by  the  author  of 
/ 

'Miss  Toosey's  Mission"  an 


^ 


•v   U'ui 


ZOE. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  Miss  TQOSEY'S  MISSION. 


Olorks  bg  ti)c  Same  <3utbor. 

MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION,  AND 
LADDIE. 

i6mo.     Cloth.     50  cents. 

TIP-CAT. 

i6mo.     Cloth.     $1.00. 

OUR   LITTLE   ANN. 
»6mo.     Cloth.    $1.00. 

PEN. 

i6mo.     Cloth.     $1.00. 

LIL. 
i6mo.     Cloth.     $1.00. 

ZOE. 

»6mo.     Cloth.     60  cents. 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 
BOSTON. 


O.R, 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OP 

£**-£,  Lt-  *- T-V    ^rt^Ji-^L  (ce^it— 
MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION^IADDIE,  TIP-CAT,  OUR  LITTLE 

ANN,   PEN,  AND  LIL. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 
1890. 


Snfbrrsitn  $rrss: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


ZOE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  HATH  this  child  been  already  bap 
tized,  or  no  ? " 

"No,  she  aint;  leastwise  we  don't 
know  as  how  she  've  been  or  no,  so 
we  thought  as  we  'd  best  have  her 
done." 

The  clergyman  who  was  taking  Mr. 
Clifford's  duty  at  Downside  for  that 
Sunday  thought  that  this  might  be 
the  usual  undecided  way  of  answer 
ing  among  the  natives,  and  proceeded 
with  the  service.  There  were  two 

961691 


6  ZOE. 

•71* —  — *~* — * •/  •  * — r — 

Other  ;bat>iee  .also-,  brought  that  after 
noon,  one  of  which  was  crying  lus 
tily,  so  that  it  was  not  easy  to  hear 
what  the  sponsors  answered ;  and, 
moreover,  the  officiating  clergyman 
was  a  young  man,  and  the  prospect 
of  holding  that  screaming,  red-faced, 
little  object  made  him  too  nervous 
and  anxious  to  get  done  with  it  to 
stop  and  make  further  inquiries. 

The  woman  who  returned  this  un 
decided  answer  was  an  elderly  woman, 
with  a  kind,  sunburnt,  honest  face, 
very  much  heated  just  now,  and  em 
barrassed  too ;  for  the  baby  in  her 
arms  prevented  her  getting  at  her 
pocket  handkerchief  to  wipe  the  per 
spiration  from  her  brow  and  pulling 


ZOE.  7 

her  bonnet  on  to  its  proper  position 
on  her  head.  The  man  beside  her 
was  also  greatly  embarrassed,  and 
kept  shuffling  his  large  hob-nailed 
shoes  together,  and  turning  his  hat 
round  and  round  in  his  fingers.  I 
think  that  really  that  hat  was  the 
chief  cause  of  his  discomfort,  for  he 
was  so  accustomed  to  have  it  on  his 
head  that  he  could  not  feel  quite 
himself  without  it ;  and,  indeed,  his 
wife  could  hardly  recognize  him,  as 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  see  him 
wearing  it  indoors  and  out  during 
the  twenty  years  of  their  married 
life,  —  pushed  back  for  meals  or  smok 
ing,  but  always  on  his  head,  except 
in  bed ;  and  even  there,  report  says, 


8  ZOE. 

on  cold  winter  nights,  he  had  re 
course  to  it  to  keep  off  the  draught 
from  that  cracked  pane  in  the  win 
dow.  His  face,  like  his  wife's,  was 
weather-beaten,  and  of  the  same  broad, 
flat  type  as  hers,  with  small,  surprised, 
dazzled-looking,  pale  blue  eyes,  and 
a  tangle  of  grizzled  light  hair  under 
his  chin.  He  was  noticeable  for  the 
green  smock-frock  he  wore,  —  a  gar 
ment  which  is  so  rapidly  disappear 
ing  before  the  march  of  civilization, 
and  giving  place  to  the  ill-cut,  ill- 
made  coat  of  shoddy  cloth,  which 
is  fondly  thought  to  resemble  the 
squire's. 

The    christening    party    was    com 
pleted  by  a  hobbledehoy  lad  of  about 


ZOE.  y 

sixteen,  who  tried  to  cover  his  invin 
cible  shyness  by  a  grin,  and  to  keep 
his  foolish  eyes  from  the  row  of  farm 
boys  in  the  aisle,  whose  critical  glances 
he  felt  in  every  pore.  He  was  so  like 
both  father  and  mother,  that  there 
was  no  mistaking  his  parentage ;  but 
when  Mrs.  Gray  took  off  the  shep- 
herd's-plaid  shawl  in  which  the  baby 
was  wrapped,  such  a  little  dark  head 
and  swarthy  face  were  exposed  to 
view  as  might  have  made  intelligent 
spectators  (if  there  were  any  in  Down 
side  church  that  afternoon,  which  I 
doubt)  reflect  on  the  laws  of  heredity 
and  reversion  to  original  types. 

"  Name  this  child  !  " 

The  clergyman  had  got  successfully 


10  ZOE. 

through  his  business  with  the  roaring 
George  Augustus  and  the  whimper 
ing  Alberta  Florence,  and  had  now 
the  little,  quiet,  brown-faced  baby  in 
his  arms.  Even  a  young  and  unmar 
ried  man  was  fain  to  confess  that  it 
was  an  unusually  pretty  little  face  that 
lay  against  his  surplice,  with  a  pointed 
chin,  and  more  eyebrows  and  lashes 
than  most  young  babies  possess,  and 
with  dark  eyes  that  looked  up  at 
him  with  a  certain  intelligence, ,  re 
cognizable  even  to  an  unprejudiced 
observer. 

"  Name  this  child  !  " 

Mrs.  Gray  had  taken  advantage  of 
this  opportunity  to  mop  her  forehead 
with  her  blue  and  white  pocket  hand- 


ZOE.  11 

kerchief,  and  wrestle  with  her  bon 
net's  unconquerable  tendency  to  slip 
off  behind,  and  the  clergyman  passed 
the  question  on  to  her  husband, 
who  fixed  his  eye  on  a  bluebottle 
buzzing  in  one  of  the  windows, 
and  jerked  out  what  sounded  like 
"Joe." 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  girl,"  whis 
pered  the  clergyman.  "  Joe,  did  you 
say  ?  " 

"  No,  it  aint  that  'zactly.  Here, 
'Liza,  can't  you  tell  the  gentleman  ? 
You  knows  best  what  it  be." 

The  next  attempt  sounded  like 
"  Sue,"  and  the  clergyman  suggested 
Susan  as  the  name,  but  that  would 
not  do. 


12  ZOE. 

\ 

"  Zola  "  seemed  to  him,  though  not 
a  reader  of  French  novels,  unsuit 
able,  and  "  Zero/'  too,  he  could  not 
quite  appreciate. 

"  Dashun !  if  I  can  make  it  out,  an 
outlandish  sorter  name  !  "  said  Gray, 
with  a  terrible  inclination  to  put  on 
his  hat  in  the  excitement  of  the  mo 
ment,  only  checked  by  a  timely 
nudge  from  his  wife's  elbow ;  "  here, 
aint  you  got  it  wrote  down  some- 
wheres  ?  Can't  you  show  it  up  ?  " 

And  after  a  lengthened  rummage 
in  a  voluminous  pocket,  and  the  pro 
duction  of  several  articles  irrelevant 
to  the  occasion, —  a  thimble,  a  bit  of 
ginger,  and  part  of  a  tract,  —  Mrs. 
Gray  brought  to  light  a  piece  of 


ZOE.  13 

paper,    on    which    was    written    the 
name  "  Zoe." 

"  Zoe,  I  baptize  thee  —  " 
A  sudden  crash  on  the  organ- 
pedals  followed  these  words.  Mr. 
Robins,  the  organist,  had,  perhaps, 
been  asleep  and  let  his  foot  slip  on 
to  the  pedals,  or,  perhaps,  he  had 
thought  there  was  no  wind  in  the 
instrument  and  that  he  could  put 
his  foot  down  with  impunity.  He 
was  plainly  very  much  ashamed  of 
himself  for  what  had  happened,  and 
it  was  only  right,  that  he  should  be, 
for  of  course  it  made  all  the  school 
children  giggle  and  a  good  many  of 
their  elders  too,  who  should  have 
known  better. 


14  ZOE. 

The  boy  \vlio  blew  the  organ  de 
clared  that  he  turned  quite  red  and 
bent  his  head  over  the  keys  as  if  he 
were  examining  something  on  them, 
and  he  was  evidently  nervous  and 
upset,  for  he  made  ever  so  many  mis 
takes  in  the  concluding  parts  of  the 
service,  and  to  the  great  surprise  and 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  blower,  cut 
the  voluntary  at  the  end  unusually 
short,  ending  it  in  an  abrupt  and 
discordant  way,  which,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  the  blower  described  as  "a  'owl/* 
though  any  shock  that  the  boy's  mus 
ical  taste  sustained  was  compensated 
for  by  the  feeling  that  he  would  be 
at  home  at  least  ten  minutes  earlier 
than  usual  to  tea. 


ZOE.  15 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Robins 
was  in  the  vestry  when  the  christen 
ing  party  came  in  to  give  the  partic 
ulars  about  the  babies  to  be  entered 
in  the  register.  He  had  come  to 
fetch  a  music-book,  which,  however, 
it  appeared  after  all  had  been  left  at 
home ;  but  the  clergyman  was  glad 
of  his  help  in  making  out  the  story 
of  the  little  Zoe  who  had  just  been 
baptized. 

I  have  spoken  before  of  intelligent 
observers  noticing  and  drawing  argu 
ments  from  the  entire  want  of  likeness 
between  Zoe  and  her  parents;  but  all 
the  observers  on  this  occasion  whether 
intelligent  or  not,  with  the  exception 
of  the  officiating  clergyman,  were 


16  ZOE. 

quite  aware  that  Zoe  was  not  the  Grays' 
baby,  but  was  a  foundling  child  picked 
up  one  night  by  Gray  in  his  garden. 

Of  her  antecedents  nothing  was 
known,  and,  of  course,  any  sensible 
people  would  have  sent  her  to  the 
workhouse,  —  everyone  agreed  on  this 
point  and  told  the  Grays  so ;  and  yet, 
I  think,  half  the  women  who  were  so 
positive  and  severe  on  Mrs.  Gray's 
folly  would  have  done  just  the  same. 

We  do  not  half  of  us  know  how 
kind-hearted  we  are  till  we  are  tried, 
or  perhaps  it  is  our  foolishness  that 
we  do  not  realize. 

Gray  was  only  a  laborer  with  twelve 
shillings  a  week  and  a  couple  of 
pounds  more  at  harvest,  and,  of  course, 


ZOE.  17 

in  bad  weather  there  was  no  work  and 
no  wages,  which  is  the  rule  among  the 
agricultural  laborers  about  Downside, 
as  in  many  other  parts,  so  did  not 
present  itself  as  a  grievance  to  Gray's 
mind,  though,  to  be  sure,  in  winter  or 
wet  seasons  it  was  a  hard  matter  to 
get  along.  But  it  was  neighbors'  fare, 
and  none  of  them  felt  hardly  used,  for 
Farmer  Benson,  what  with  bad  sea 
sons  and  cattle  plague,  was  not  much 
better  off  than  they  were,  and  the  men 
knew  it. 

But  out  of  these  wages  it  was  hardly 
to  be  expected  of  the  most  provident 
of  people  that  anything  could  be  laid 
by  for  old  age  or  a  rainy  day ;  indeed, 
there  seemed  so  many  rainy  days  in 
2 


18  ZOE. 

the  present  that  it  was  not  easy  to 
give  much  thought  to  those  in  the 
future.  Of  course  too  the  local  provi 
dent  club  had  come  to  utter  and  hope 
less  grief.  Is  there  any  country  place 
where  this  has  not  been  the  case? 
Gray  had  paid  into  it  regularly  for 
years  and  had  gone  every  Whitmon- 
day  to  its  dinner,  his  one  voluntary 
holiday  during  the  year,  on  which 
occasion  he  took  too  much  beer  as  a 
sort  of  solemn  duty  connected  with  his 
membership.  When  it  collapsed  he 
was  too  old  to  join  another  club,  and 
so  was  left  stranded.  He  bore  it  very 
philosophically  ;  indeed,  I  think  it  was 
only  on  Whitmonday  that  he  felt  it  at 
all,  as  it  seemed  strange  and  unnatural 


ZOE.  19 

to  go  to  bed  quite  sober  on  that  day 
as  he  did  on  all  other  days  of  the  year. 

On  all  other  occasions  he  was  a 
thoroughly  sober  man,  perhaps,  how 
ever,  more  from  necessity  than  choice, 
as  the  beer  supplied  by  Farmer  Ben 
son  in  the  hayfield  was  of  a  quality  on 
which  as  the  men  said  you  got  "  no 
forrarder  "  if  you  drank  a  hogshead, 
and  Gray  had  no  money  to  spare  from 
the  necessaries  of  life  to  spend  on 
luxury,  even  the  luxury  of  getting 
drunk. 

He  was  in  one  way  better  off  than 
his  neighbors  from  a  worldly  point  of 
view,  in  that  he  had  not  a  large  family, 
as  most  of  them  were  blessed  with  ; 
for  children  are  a  blessing,  a  gift  and 


20  ZOE. 

heritage  that  coineth  of  the  Lord,  even 
when  they  cluster  round  a  cold  hearth 
and  a  scanty  board.  But  Gray  had 
only  two  sons,  the  elder  of  whom, 
Tom,  we  have  seen  at  Zoe's  christen 
ing,  and  who  had  been  at  work  four 
years,  having  managed  at  twelve  to 
scramble  into  the  fifth  standard,  and 
at  once  left  school  triumphantly,  and 
now  can  neither  read  nor  write, 
having  clean  forgotten  everything 
drummed  into  his  head,  but  earns 
three  shillings  and  sixpence  a  week 
going  along  with  Farmer  Benson's 
horses,  from  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning  till  six  in  the  evening,  —  the 
long  wret  furrows  and  heavy  ploughed 
land  having  made  havoc  of  his 


ZOE.  21 

legs,  as  such  work  does  with  most 
plough-boys. 

The  younger  boy,  Bill,  is  six  years 
younger  and  still  at  school,  and  having 
been  a  delicate  child,  or  as  his  mother 
puts  it.  "  enjoying  bad  health,"  is  not 
promising  for  farm-work ;  and,  being 
fond  of  his  book  and  a  favorite  at 
school,  his  mother  cherishes  hopes 
of  his  becoming  a  school-teacher  in 
days  to  come. 

But  such  is  the  perversity  of  human 
nature  that  though  many  a  Downside 
mother  with  a  family  of  little  steps 
envied  Mrs.  Gray  her  compact  family 
and  the  small  amount  of  washing  at 
tached  to  it,  that  ungrateful  woman 
yearned  after  an  occupant  for  the  old 


22  ZOE. 

wooden  cradle,  and  treasured  up  the 
bits  of  baby  things  that  had  belonged 
to  Tom  and  Bill,  and  nursed  up  any 
young  thing  that  came  to  hand  and 
wanted  care,  —  bringing  up  a  mother 
less  blind  kitten  with  assiduous  care 
and  patience,  as  if  the  supply  of  that 
commodity  was  not  always  largely  in 
excess  of  the  demand,  and  lavishing 
more  care  on  a  sick  lamb  or  a  super 
fluous  young  pig  than  most  of  the 
neighbors*  babies  received. 

So  when  one  evening  in  May  Gray 
came  in  holding  a  bundle  in  his  arms 
and  poked  it  into  her  lap  as  she  sat 
darning  the  holes  in  Tom's  stockings 
(she  was  not  good  at  needlework,  but 
she  managed,  as  she  said,  to*  "  goblify  " 


ZOE.  23 

the  holes),  he  knew  pretty  well  that 
it  was  into  no  unwilling  arms  that  he 
gave  the  baby. 

"  And  a  mercy  it  was  as  the  darning- 
needle  didn't  run  right  into  the  little 
angel,"  Mrs.  Gray  always  said  in  re 
counting  the  story. 

lie  had  been  down  to  the  village 
to  fetch  some  tobacco,  for  the  Grays' 
cottage  was  right  away  from  the  vil 
lage,  up  a  lane  leading  on  to  the  hill 
side,  and  there  were  no  other  cottages 
near.  Tom  was  in  bed,  though  it  was 
not  eight  yet,  —  but  he  was  generally 
ready  for  bed  when  he  had  had  his 
tea;  and  Bill  was  up  on  the  hill,  a 
favorite  resort  of  his,  and  especially 
when  it  was  growing  dark  and  the 


24 


ZOE. 


great  indigo  sky  spread  over  him,  with 
the  glory  of*  the  stars  coming  out. 

"  He  never  were  like  other  lads,"  his 
mother  used  to  say  with  a  mixture  of 
pride  and  irritation  ;  "  always  moon 
ing  about  by  himself  on  them  old 
hills." 

The  cottage  door  stood  open  as  it 
always  did,  and  Mrs.  Gray  sat  there, 
plainly  to  be  seen  from  the  lane,  with 
Tom's  gray  stocking  and  her  eyes  and 
the  tallow  candle  as  near  together  as 
possible.  She  did  not  hear  a  sound, 
though  she  was  listening  for  Bill's 
return,  and  even  though  Tom's  snores 
penetrated  the  numerous  crevices  in 
the  floor  above,  they  were  hardly 
enough  to  drown  other  sounds. 


ZOE.  25 

So  there  was  no  knowing  when  the 
bundle  was  laid  just  inside  the  cottage 
gate,  not  quite  in  the  middle  of  the 
brick  path,  but  on  one  side  against 
the  box  edging-,  where  a  clump  of 
daffodils  nodded  their  graceful  heads 
over  the  dark  velvet  polyanthus  in 
the  border.  Gray  nearly  stepped 
upon  the  bundle,  having  large  feet 
and  the  way  of  walking  which  cov 
ers  a  good  deal  of  ground  to  right 
and  left,  a  way  which  plough  driv 
ing  teaches. 

Mrs.  Gray  heard  an  exclamation. 

"  Dashun!  "  was,  I  think,  Gray's  fav 
orite  ejaculation,  which  I  am  afraid  is 
an  imprecation,  but  of  a  mild  order, 
and  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  pass, 


26  ZOE. 

as   expletives  of   some   kind   seem    a 
necessity  to  human  nature. 

And  then  Gray  came  in,  and,  as 
1  have  said,  did  his  best  to  impale  the 
bundle,  baby  and  all,  on  the  top  of  his 
wife's  darning-needle. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  organist  of  Downside,  Mr. 
Robins,  lived  in  a  little  house  close 
to  the  church. 

Mr.  Clifford  the  vicar  was  accounted 
very  lucky  by  the  neighboring  clergy 
for  having  such  a  man,  and  not  being 
exposed  to  all  the  vagaries  of  a  young 
schoolmaster,  or,  perhaps  still  worse, 
schoolmistress,  with  all  the  latest  mus 
ical  fancies  of  the  training  colleges. 
Neither  had  he  to  grapple  with  the 
tyranny  of  the  leading  bass  nor  the 
conceit  and  touchiness  that  seems  in 
separable  from  the  tenor  voice,  since 


28 


ZOE. 


Mr.  Robins  kept  a  firm  and  sensible 
hand  on  the  reins,  and  drove  that  gen 
erally  unmanageable  team,  a  village 
choir,  with  the  greatest  discretion. 

But  when  Mr.  Clifford  was  compli 
mented  by  his  friends  on  the  posses 
sion  of  such  a  treasure,  he  accepted 
their  remarks  a  little  doubtfully,  be 
ing  sometimes  inclined  to  think  that 
he  would  almost  rather  have  had  a 
less  excellent  choir  and  have  had  some 
slight  voice  in  the  matter  himself. 

Mr.  Robins  imported  a  certain  sol 
emnity  into  the  musical  matters  of 
Downside,  which  of  course  was  very 
desirable  as  far  as  the  church  services 
were  concerned ;  but  when  it  came  to 
penny-readings  and  village  concerts, 


ZOE.  29 

Mr.  Clifford  and  some  of  the  parish 
ioners  were  disposed  to  envy  the 
pleasant  ease  of  such  festivities  in 
other  parishes,  where,  though  the 
music  was  very  inferior,  the  enjoy 
ment  of  both  performers  and  audi 
ence  was  far  greater. 

Mr.  Robins,  for  one  thing,  set  his 
face  steadily  against  comic  songs;  and 
Mr.  Clifford  in  his  inmost  heart  had 
an  ungratified  ambition  to  sing  a  cer 
tain  song,  called  "  The  Three  Little 
Pigs,"  with  which  Mr.  Wilson  in  the 
next  parish  simply  brought  down  the 
house  on  several  occasions ;  though 
Mr.  Clifford  felt  he  by  no  means  did 
full  justice  to  it,  especially  in  the 
part  where  the  old  mother  "waddled 


30 


about,  saying  'Urn  ph!  Umph!  Umph!' 
while  the  little  ones  said  'wee!  wee!'* 
To  be  sure  Mr.  Wilson  suffered  for 
months  after  these  performances  from 
outbursts  of  grunting  among  his  youth 
ful  parishioners  at  sight  of  him,  and 
even  at  the  Sunday-school  one  auda 
cious  boy  had  given  vent  on  one 
occasion  to  an  "  Umph  !  "  very  true 
indeed  to  nature,  but  not  conducive 
to  good  behavior  in  his  class.  But  Mr. 
Clifford  did  not  know  the  after  effects 
of  Mr.  Wilson's  vocal  success. 

Likewise  Mr.  Robins  selected  very 
simple  music,  and  yet  exacted  an 
amount  of  practising  unheard  of  at 
Bilton  or  Stokeley,  where,  after  one 
or  two  attempts,  they  felt  competent 


ZOE.  31 

to  face  a  crowded  school-room,  and 
yell  or  growl  out  such  choruses  as 
"The  Heavens  are  telling"  or  "The 
Hallelujah  Chorus/'  with  a  lofty  in 
difference  to  tune  or  time,  and  with 
their  respective  schoolmasters  banging 
away  at  the  accompaniment  within  a 
bar  or  two  of  the  singers,  all  feeling 
quite  satisfied  if  they  finished  up  all 
together  on  the  concluding  chord  or 
thereabouts,  flushed  and  triumphant, 
with  perspiration  standing  on  their 
foreheads,  and  an  expression  of  hon 
est  pride  on  their  faces,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  There  's  for  you.  What  do 
you  think  of  that  ?  " 

If   success   is   to    be    measured    by 
applause,  there  is  no  doubt  these  per- 


32  ZOE. 

formances  were  most  successful,  far 
more  so  than  the  accurately  rendered 
"  Hardy  Norseman  "  or  "  Men  of  Har- 
lech"  at  Downside,  in  which  lights 
and  shades,  pianos  and  fortes  were 
carefully  observed,  and  any  attempt 
on  any  one's  part,  even  the  tenors, 
to  distinguish  themselves  above  the 
others  was  instantly  suppressed.  The 
result,  from  a  musical  point  of  view, 
was  no  doubt  satisfactory ;  but  the 
applause  was  of  a  very  moderate 
character,  and  never  accompanied  by 
those  vociferous  "  angcores  "  which  are 
so  truly  gratifying  to  the  soul  of  mus 
ical  artistes. 

Mr.  Robins  was  a  middle-aged  man, 
looking  older  than  he   really  was,  as 


ZOE. 


33 


his  hair  was  quite  white.  He  had 
some  small  independent  means  of  his 
own,  which  he  supplemented  hy  his 
small  salary  as  organist,  and  by  giv 
ing  a  few  music  lessons  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  He  had  been  in  his  earlier 
years  a  vicar-choral  at  one  of  the 
cathedrals,  and  had  come  to  Down 
side  twenty  years  ago,  after  the  death 
of  his  wife,  bringing  with  him  his 
little  girl,  in  whom  he  was  entirely 
wrapt  up. 

He  spoilt  her  so  persistently,  and 
his  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Sands,  was  so 
gentle  and  meek-spirited,  that  the 
effect  on  a  naturally  self-willed  child 
can  easily  be  imagined ;  and  as  she 
grew  up,  she  became  more  and  more 
3 


34  ZOE. 

uncontrollable.  She  was  a  pretty, 
gypsy-looking  girl,  inheriting  her 
sweet  looks  from  her  mother  and 
her  voice  and  musical  taste  from  her 
father.  There  was  more  than  one 
young  farmer  in  the  neighborhood 
who  cast  admiring  glances  towards 
the  corner  of  the  church  near  the 
organ  where  the  organist's  pretty 
daughter  sat,  and  slackened  the  pace 
of  his  horse  as  he  passed  the  clipped 
yew-hedge  by  the  church,  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  her  in  the  bright  little 
patch  of  garden,  or  to  hear  her  clear 
sweet  voice  singing  over  her  work. 

But  people  said  Mr.  Eobins  thought 
no  one  good  enough  for  her,  and 
though  he  himself  had  come  of  hum- 


ZOE.  35 

ble  parentage,  and  in  no  way  re 
garded  himself  nor  expected  to  be 
regarded  as  a  gentleman,  it  was  gen 
erally  understood  that  no  suitor  ex 
cept  a  gentleman  would  be  acceptable 
for  Edith. 

And  so  it  took  every  one  by  sur 
prise,  and  no  one  more  so  than  her 
father,  when  the  girl  took  up  with 
Martin  Blake,  the  son  of  the  black 
smith  in  the  next  village,  who  might 
be  seen  most  days  with  a  smutty  face 
and  leathern  apron  hammering  away 
at  the  glowing  red  metal  on  the  an 
vil.  It  would  have  been  well  for  him 
if  he  had  only  been  seen  thus,  with 
the  marks  of  honest  toil  about  him ; 
but  Martin  Blake  was  too  often  to 


36  ZOE. 

be  seen  at  the  "  Crown/'  and  often  in 
a  state  that  any  one  who  loved  him 
would  have  grieved  to  see ;  and  he  was 
always  to  be  found  at  any  race  meet 
ing's  and  steeplechases  and  fairs  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  report  said  was  by 
no  means  choice  in  his  company. 

To  be  sure  he  was  good-looking  and 
pleasant-mannered,  and  had  a  sort  of 
rollicking,  light-hearted  way  with  him 
which  was  very  attractive  ;  but  still  it 
seemed  little  short  of  infatuation  on  the 
part  of  Edith  Robins  to  take  up  with 
a  man  whose  character  was  so  well- 
known,  and  who  was  in  every  way  her 
inferior  in  position  and  education. 

No  doubt  Mr.  Robins  was  very  in 
judicious  in  his  treatment  of  her  when 


ZOE.  37 

he  found  out  what  was  going  on,  and 
as  this  was  the  first  time  in  her  life 
that  Edith's  wishes  had  been  crossed, 
it  was  not  likely  that  she  would  yield 
without  a  struggle.  The  mere  fact 
of  opposition  seemed  to  deepen  what 
was  at  first  merely  an  ordinary  liking 
into  an  absorbing  passion.  It  was 
perfectly  useless  to  reason  with  her ; 
she  disbelieved  all  the  stories  to  his 
discredit,  which  were  abundant,  and 
treated  those  who  repeated  them  as 
prejudiced  and  ill-natured. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mr.  Kobins  by 
turns  entreated  and  commanded  her 
to  give  him  up,  her  father's  distress 
or  anger  alike  seemed  indifferent  to 
her ;  and  when  he  forbade  Martin  to 


38  ZOE. 

come  near  the  place  and  kept  her  as 
much  as  possible  under  his  eye  to 
prevent  meetings  between  them,  it 
only  roused  in  her  a  more  obstinate 
determination  to  have  her  own  way 
in  spite  of  him.  She  was  missing 
one  morning  from  the  little  bedroom 
which  Mrs.  Sands  loved  to  keep  as 
dainty  and  pretty  as  a  lady's,  and 
from  the  garden  where  the  roses  and 
geraniums  did  such  credit  to  her 
care,  and  from  her  place  in  the  little 
church  where  her  prayer-book  still 
lay  on  the  desk  as  she  had  left  it 
the  day  before. 

She  had  gone  off  with  Martin  Blake 
to  London,  without  a  word  of  sorrow 
or  farewell  to  the  father  who  had  been 


ZOE.  39 

so  foolishly  fond  of  her,  or  to  the 
home  where  her  happy  petted  child 
hood  had  passed.  It  nearly  broke  her 
father's  heart ;  it  made  an  old  man  of 
him  and  turned  his  hair  white,  and  it 
seemed  to  freeze  or  petrify  all  his 
kindliness  and  human  sympathy. 

He  was  a  proud,  reserved  man,  and 
could  not  bear  the  pity  that  every  one 
felt  for  him,  or  endure  the  well-meant 
but  injudicious  condolences,  mixed 
with  "  I  told  you  so,"  and  "  I  've  thought 
for  a  long  time,"  which  the  neighbors 
were  so  liberal  with.  Even  Mr.  Clif 
ford's  attempts  at  consolation  he  could 
hardly  bring  himself  to  listen  to  cour 
teously,  and  Jane  Sands'  tearful  eyes 
and  quivering  voice  irritated  him  be- 


40  ZOE. 

yond  all  endurance.  If  there  had 
been  any  one  to  whom  he  could  have 
talked  unrestrainedly  and  let  out 
all  the  pent-up  disappointment  and 
wounded  love  and  tortured  pride  that 
surged  and  boiled  within  him,  he 
might  have  got  through  it  better,  or 
rather  it  might  have  raised  him,  as 
rightly  borne  troubles  do,  above  his 
poor,  little,  pitiful  self,  and  nearer  to 
God ;  but  this  was  just  what  he  could 
not  do. 

He  came  nearest  it  sometimes  in 
those  long  evenings  of  organ  playing, 
of  the  length  of  which  poor  little  Jack 
Davis,  the  blower,  so  bitterly  com 
plained,  when  the  long  sad  notes 
wailed  and  sobbed  through  the  little 


ZOE.  41 

church  like  the  voice  of  a  weary,  sick 
soul  making  its  complaint.  But  even 
so  he  could  not  tell  it  all  to  God, 
though  he  had  been  given  that  power 
of  expression  in  music  which  must 
make  it  easier  to  those  so  gifted  to  cry 
unto  the  Lord. 

But  the  music  wailed  itself  into 
silence,  and  Jack  in  his  corner  by  the 
bellows  waited  terror-struck  at  the 
"  unked "  sounds  and  the  darkening 
church,  till  he  ventured  at  last  to  ask  : 
"  Be  I  to  blow,  Mister  ?  I  'm  kinder 
skeered  like." 

So  the  organist's  trouble  turned  him 
bitter  and  hard,  and  changed  his  love 
for  his  daughter  into  cold  resentment ; 
he  would  not  have  her  name  men- 


42  ZOE. 

tioned  in  his  presence,  and  he  refused 
to  open  a  letter  she  sent  him  a  few 
weeks  after  her  marriage,  and  bid 
Jane  Sands  send  it  back  if  she  knew 
the  address  of  the  person  who  sent  it. 
On  her  side,  Edith  was  quite  as 
obstinate  and  resentful.  She  had  no 
idea  of  humbling  herself  and  asking 
pardon.  She  thought  she  had  quite  a 
right  to  do  as  she  liked,  and  she  be 
lieved  her  father  would  be  too  un 
happy  without  her  to  bear  the  separa 
tion  long.  She  very  soon  found  out 
the  mistake  she  had  made,  —  indeed, 
even  in  the  midst  of  her  infatuation 
about  Martin  Blake,  I  think  there 
lurked  a  certain  distrust  of  him,  and 
they  had  not  been  married  many  weeks 


ZOE.  43 

—  I  might  almost  say  days  —  before 
this  distrust  was  more  than  realized. 

His  feelings  towards  her,  too,  had 
been  more  flattered  vanity  at  being 
preferred  by  such  a  superior  sort  of 
girl  than  any  deeper  feeling,  and 
vanity  is  not  a  sufficiently  lasting 
foundation  for  married  happiness,  es 
pecially  when  the  cold  winds  of  poverty 
blow  on  the  edifice,  and  when  the 
superior  sort  of  girl  has  not  been 
brought  up  to  anything  useful,  and 
cannot  cook  the  dinner,  or  iron  a  shirt, 
or  keep  the  house  tidy. 

When  his  father,  the  old  blacksmith 
at  Bilton,  died  six  months  after  they 
were  married,  Martin  wished  to  come 
back  and  take  up  the  work  there,  more 


44  ZOE. 

especially  as  work  was  hard  to  get  in 
London  and  living  dear;  but  Edith 
would  not  hear  of  it,  and  opposed  it  so 
violently  that  she  got  her  way,  though 
Martin  afterwards  maintained  that  this 
decision  was  the  ruin  of  him,  occasion 
ally  dating  his  ruin  six  months  earlier, 
from  his  wedding.  Perhaps  he  was 
right,  and  he  might  have  settled  down 
steadily  in  the  old  home  and  among 
the  old  neighbors  in  spite  of  his  fine- 
lady  wife  ;  but  when  he  said  so,  Edith 
was  quick  to  remember  and  cast  up  at 
him  the  stories  which  she  had  disbe 
lieved  and  ignored  before,  to  prove  in 
their  constant  wranglings  that  place 
and  neighborhood  had  nothing  to  do 
with  his  idleness  and  unsteadiness. 


ZOE.  45 

No  one  ever  heard  much  of  these  five 
years  in  London,  for  Edith  wrote  no 
more  after  that  letter  was  returned. 
Those  five  years  made  little  differ 
ence  at  Downside,  except  in  Mr. 
Robins'  white  hair  and  set,  lined  face  ; 
the  little  house  behind  the  yew-hedge 
looked  just  the  same,  and  Jane  Sands' 
kind,  placid  face  was  still  as  kind  and 
placid.  Some  of  the  girls  had  left 
school  and  gone  to  service ;  some  of 
the  lads  had  developed  into  hobblede 
hoys  and  came  to  church  with  walking- 
sticks  and  well-oiled  hair ;  one  or  two 
of  the  old  folks  had  died ;  one  or 
two  more  white-headed  babies  crawled 
about  the  cottage  floors ;  but  other 
wise  Downside  was  just  the  same  as  it 


46  ZOE. 

had  been  five  years  before,  when,  one 
June  morning,  a  self-willed  girl  had 
softly  opened  the  door  under  the 
honeysuckle  porch  and  stepped  out 
into  the  dewy  garden,  where  the  birds 
were  calling  such  a  glad  good-morning 
as  she  passed  to  join  her  lover  in  the 
lane. 

But  the  flame  of  life  burns  quicker 
and  fiercer  in  London  than  at  Down 
side,  for  that  same  girl,  coming  back 
after  only  five  years  in  London,  was  so 
changed  and  aged  and  altered  that  — 
though,  to  be  sure,  she  came  in  the 
dusk  and  was  muffled  up  in  a  big 
shawl  —  no  one  recognized  her,  or 
thought  for  a  moment  of  pretty,  co 
quettish,  well-dressed  Edith  Robins, 


ZOE.  47 

when  the  weary,  shabby-looking 
woman  passed  them  by.  She  had 
lingered  a  minute  or  two  by  the 
churchyard  gate,  though  tramps,  for 
such  her  worn-out  boots  and  muddy 
skirts  proclaimed  her,  do  not  as  a  rule 
care  for  such  music  as  sounded  out 
from  the  church-door,  where  Mr. 
Kobins  was  consoling  himself  for  the 
irritation  of  choir-practice  by  ten 
minutes'  playing.  It  was  soon  over, 
and  Jack  Davis,  still  blower,  and  not 
much  taller  than  he  was  five  years 
before,  charged  out  in  the  rebound 
from  the  tension  of  long  blowing,  and 
nearly  knocked  over  the  woman  stand 
ing  by  the  churchyard  gate  in  the 
shadow  of  the  yew-tree,  and  made  the 


48  ZOE. 

baby  she  held  in  her  arms  give  a 
feeble  cry. 

"  Now  then,  put  of  the  way  !  "  he 
shouted  in  that  unnecessarily  loud 
voice  boys  assume  after  church,  per 
haps  to  try  if  their  lungs  are  still 
capable  of  producing  such  a  noise 
after  enforced  silence. 

The  woman  made  no  answer,  but 
after  the  boy  had  run  off,  went  in  and 
waited  in  the  porch  till  the  sound  of 
turning  keys  announced  that  the  or 
ganist  was  closing  the  organ  and 
church  for  the  night.  But  as  his  foot 
steps  drew  near  on  the  stone  pavement 
she  started  and  trembled  as  if  she  had 
been  afraid,  and  when  he  came  out 
into  the  porch  she  shrank  away  into 


ZOE.  49 

the  shadow  as  if  she  wished  to  be  un 
observed.  He  might  easily  have 
passed  her,  for  it  was  nearly  dark  from 
the  yew-tree  and  the  row  of  elms  that 
shut  out  the  western  sky,  where  the 
sunset  was  just  dying  away.  His 
mind,  too,  was  occupied  with  other 
things,  and  he  was  humming  over  the 
verse  of  a  hymn  the  boys  had  been 
singing,  "  Far  from  my  heavenly 
home."  There  was  no  drilling  into 
them  the  proper  rendering  of  the  last 
pathetic  words  — 

"  O  guide  me  through  the  desert  here, 
And  bring  me  home  at  last." 

He    quite    started    when     a     hand 
was   laid  upon  his  arm,  and  a  voice, 
4 


50  ZOE. 

changed  indeed  and  weak,  but  still 
the  voice  that  in  old  days  —  not 
so  very  old  either  —  was  the  one 
voice  for  him  in  all  the  world,  said, 
"Father!" 

I  think  just  for  one  minute  his  im 
pulse  was  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and 
forget  the  ingratitude  and  desertion 
and  deceit,  like  the  father  in  the  para 
ble  whose  heart  went  out  to  the  poor 
prodigal  while  he  was  yet  a  long  way 
off;  but  the  next  moment  the  cold, 
bitter,  resentful  feelings  quenched  the 
gentler  impulse,  and  he  drew  away 
his  arm  from  her  detaining  hold,  and 
passed  on  along  the  flagged  path  as  if 
he  were  unconscious  of  her  presence, 
—  and  this  on  the  very  threshold  of 


ZOE.  51 

His  house  who  so  pitifully  forgives 
the  debts  of  His  servants,  forasmuch 
as  they  have  not  to  pay. 

But  he  had  not  reached  the  church 
yard  gate  before  she  was  at  his  side 
again. 

"  Stop/'  she  said  ;  "  you  must  hear 
me.  It 's  not  for  my  own  sake,  it 's 
the  child.  It 's  a  little  girl ;  the 
others  were  boys,  and  I  didn't  mind 
so  much ;  if  they  'd  grown  up,  they 
might  have  got  on  somehow,  —  but 
there  !  they  're  safe  anyhow  —  both 
of  them  in  one  week,"  wailed  the 
mother's  voice,  protesting  against  her 
own  words  that  she  did  not  mind 
about  them.  "  But  this  is  a  girl,  and 
not  a  bit  like  him.  She  's  like  me, 


52  ZOE. 

and  you  used  to  say  I  was  like  mother. 
She 's  like  mother,  I  'in  sure  she  is. 
There,  just  look  at  her.  It 's  so  dark, 
but  you  can  see  even  by  this  light  that 
she  's  not  like  the  Blakes."  She  was 
fumbling  to  draw  back  the  shawl  from 
the  baby's  head  with  her  disengaged 
hand,  while  with  the  other  she  still 
held  a  grip  on  his  arm  that  was  almost 
painful  in  its  pressure ;  but  he  stood 
doggedly  with  his  head  turned  away, 
and  gave  no  sign  of  hearing  what  she 
said. 

"  He  left  me  six  months  ago,"  she 
went  on,  "  and  I've  struggled  along 
somehow.  I  don 't  want  ever  to  see 
him  again.  They  say  he 's  gone  to 
America,  but  I  don't  care.  I  don't 


ZOE.  53 

mind  starving  myself,  but  it's  the 
little  girl.  —  Oh  !  I  've  not  come  to  ask 
you  to  take  me  in,  though  it  would  n't 
be  for  long,"  and  a  wretched,  hollow 
cough  that  had  interrupted  her  words 
once  or  twice  before  broke  in  now  as 
if  to  confirm  what  she  said  ;  "  if  you  'd 
just  take  the  child.  She 's  a  dear  lit 
tle  thing,  and  not  old  enough  at  two 
months  to  have  learnt  any  harm,  and 
Jane  Sands  would  be  good  to  her,  I 
know  she  would,  for  the  sake  of  old 
times.  And  I  '11  go  away  and  never 
come  near  to  trouble  you  again  —  I  '11 
promise  it.  Oh  !  just  look  at  her !  If 
it  was  n't  so  dark  you  'd  see  she  was 
like  mother.  Why,  you  can  feel  the 
likeness  if  you  just  put  your  hand  on 


54  ZOE. 

her  little  face;  often  in  the  night  I've 
felt  it,  and  I  never  did  with  the  boys. 
She  's  very  good,  and  she  's  too  little 
to  fret  after  me,  bless  her !  —  and 
she  '11  never  know  anything  about  me, 
and  need  n't  even  know  she  has  a 
father,  and  he  's  not  ever  likely  to 
trouble  himself  about  her." 

Her  voice  grew  more  and  more 
pleading  and  entreating  as  she  went 
on,  for  there  was  not  the  slightest  re 
sponse  or  movement  in  the  still  figure 
before  her,  less  movement  even  than 
in  the  old  yew-tree  behind,  whose 
smaller  branches,  black  against  the 
sky  where  the  orange  of  the  sunset 
was  darkening  into  dull  crimson, 
stirred  a  little  in  the  evening  air. 


ZOE.  55 

"  Oh  !  you  can't  refuse  to  take  her  ! 
See,  I  '11  carry  her  as  far  as  the  door  so 
that  Jane  can  take  her,  and  then  I  '11 
go  clear  away,  and  never  come  near 
her  again.  You  '11  have  her  chris 
tened,  won't  you  ?  I  've  been  think 
ing  all  the  weary  way  what  she 
should  be  called,  and  I  thought,  un 
less  you  had  a  fancy  for  any  other 
name "  (a  little  stifled  sigh  at  the 
thought  of  how  dear  one  name  used 
to  be  to  him),  "  I  should  like  her  to 
be  Zoe.  Just  when  she  was  born, 
and  I  was  thinking,  thinking  of  you 
and  home  and  everything,  that  song 
of  yours  kept  ringing  in  my  head, 
'  Maid  of  Athens/  and  the  last  line 
of  every  verse  beginning  with  Zoe. 


56  ZOE. 

I  can't  remember  the  other  words, 
but  I  know  you  said  they  meant 
*  My  life,  I  love  you ; '  and  Zoe  was 
life,  and  I  thought  when  I'm  gone 
my  little  girl  would  live  my  life  over 
again,  my  happy  old  life  with  you, 
and  make  up  to  you  for  all  the 
trouble  her  mother  's  been  to  you." 

She  stopped  for  want  of  breath  and 
for  the  cough  that  shook  her  from 
head  to  foot,  and  at  last  he  turned  ; 
but  even  in  that  dim  light  she  could 
see  his  face  plainly  enough  to  know 
that  there  was  no  favorable  answer 
coining  from  those  hard-set  lips  and 
from  those  cold,  steady  eyes,  and  her 
hand  dropped  from  his  arm  even  be 
fore  he  spoke. 


ZOE.  57 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  this 
five  years  ago,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not 
see  that  I  am  called  upon  to  support 
Martin  Blake's  family.  I  must  trouble 
you  to  let  me  pass/' 

She  fell  back  against  the  trunk  of 
the  yew-tree  as  if  he  had  struck  her, 
and  the  movement  caused  the  baby 
to  wake  and  cry,  and  the  sound  of 
its  little  wailing  voice  followed  him 
as  he  walked  down  the  path  and  out 
into  the  road ;  and  he  could  hear  it 
still  when  he  reached  his  own  garden- 
gate,  where  through  the  open  door 
the  light  shone  out  from  the  lamp 
that  Jane  Sands  was  just  carrying 
into  his  room,  where  his  supper  was 
spread  and  his  arm-chair  and  slippers 
awaited  him. 


58  ZOE. 

In  after  days,  remembering  that 
evening,  he  fancied  he  had  heard 
"  Father "  once  more  mingling  with 
the  baby's  cry ;  but  he  went  in  and 
shut  the  door  and  drew  the  bolt, 
and  went  into  the  cheerful,  pleasant 
room,  leaving  outside  the  night  and 
the  child's  cry  and  the  black  shadow 
of  the  church  and  the  yew-tree. 

It  wras  only  the  beginning  of  the 
annoyance,  he  told  himself;  he  must 
expect  a  continued  course  of  persecu 
tion,  and  he  listened,  while  he  made 
a  pretence  of  eating  his  supper,  for 
the  steps  outside  and  the  knock  at 
the  door  which  would  surely  renew 
the  unwarrantable  attempt  to  saddle 
him  with  the  charge  of  the  child. 
He  listened,  too,  as  he  sat  after  sup- 


ZOE.  59 

per,  holding  up  the  newspaper  in 
front  of  his  unobservant  eyes;  and 
he  listened  most  of  the  night  as  he 
tossed  on  his  sleepless  pillow  —  lis 
tened  to  the  wind  that  had  risen  and 
moaned  and  sobbed  round  the  house 
like  a  living  thing  in  pain,  listened  to 
the  pitiless  rain  that  followed,  pelt 
ing  down  on  the  ivy  outside  and  on 
the  tiles  above  his  head  as  if  bent 
on  finding  its  way  into  the  warm, 
comfortable  bed  where  he  lay. 


CHAPTER 

BUT  the  annoyance  for  which  Mr. 
Robins  had  been  preparing  himself 
was  not  repeated ;  the  persecution, 
if  such  had  been  intended,  was  not 
continued.  As  the  days  passed  by 
he  began  to  leave  off  listening  and 
lying  awake ;  he  came  out  from  his 
house  or  from  the  church  without 
furtive  glances  of  expectation  to  the 
right  and  left ;  he  lost  that  constant 
feeling  of  apprehension  and  the  ne 
cessity  to  nerve  himself  for  resistance. 
He  had  never  been  one  to  gossip  or 
concern  himself  with  other  people's 


ZOE.  61 

matters,  and  Jane  Sands  had  never 
brought  the  news  of  the  place  to 
amuse  her  master  as  many  in  her 
place  would  have  done,  so  now  he 
had  no  way  of  knowing  if  his  daugh 
ter's  return  had  been  known  in  the 
place  or  what  comments  the  neigh 
bors  passed  on  it. 

He  fancied  that  Jane  looked  a  little 
more  anxious  than  usual ;  but  then 
her  sister  was  lying  ill  at  Stokeley 
and  she  was  often  there  with  her,  so 
that  accounted  for  her  anxiety.  It 
accounted,  too,  for  her  being  away 
one  evening  a  fortnight  later,  when 
Mr.  Robins,  coming  in  in  the  dusk, 
found  something  laid  on  his  doorstep. 
His  thoughts  had  been  otherwise  oc- 


62  ZOE. 

cupied,  but  the  moment  his  eyes  fell 
on  the  shepherd's-plaid  shawl  wrap 
ping  the  bundle  at  his  feet,  he  knew 
what  it  was,  and  recognized  a  renewed 
attempt  to  coerce  him  into  doing  what 
he  had  vowed  he  would  not.  He  saw 
it  all  in  a  minute,  and  understood 
that  now  Jane  Sands  was  in  the  plot 
against  him,  and  she  had  devised  this 
way  of  putting  the  child  in  his  path 
because  she  was  afraid  to  come  to 
him  openly  and  say  what  she  wanted. 
Perhaps  even  now  she  was  watching, 
expecting  to  see  him  fall  into  the 
trap  they  had  set  for  him;  but  they 
should  find  they  were  very  much 
mistaken. 

His  first  resolution  was  to  fetch  the 


ZOE.  63 

police  constable  and  get  him  to  take 
the  child  right  off  to  the  workhouse, 
but  on  second  thoughts  he  altered  his 
purpose.  Such  a  step  would  set  all 
the  tongues  in  the  place  wagging,  and 
little  as  he  cared  for  public  opinion, 
it  would  not  be  pleasant  for  every  one 
to  be  telling  how  he  had  sent  his 
grandchild  to  the  workhouse.  Grand 
child  ?  pshaw  !  it  was  Martin  Blake's 
brat. 

The  child  was  sleeping  soundly, 
everything  was  quiet,  the  dusk  was 
gathering  thick  and  fast.  Why  should 
he  not  put  the  child  outside  some 
other  cottage,  and  throw  the  respon 
sibility  of  disposing  of  it  on  some  one 
else,  and  be  clear  of  it  himself  alto- 


64  ZOE. 

gether?  The  idea  shaped  itself  with 
lightning  rapidity  in  his  brain,  and 
he  passed  quickly  in  review  the  dif 
ferent  cottages  in  the  place  and  their 
inmates,  and,  in  spite  of  his  indiffer 
ence  to  Martin  Blake's  brat,  he  se 
lected  one  where  he  knew  a  kindly 
reception,  at  any  rate  for  the  night, 
\vould  be  given.  He  knew  more  about 
the  Grays  than  of  most  of  the  village 
people.  Bill  was  a  favorite  of  his, 
and  had  been  with  him  that  after 
noon  after  school  to  fetch  a  book  Mr. 
Robins  had  promised  to  lend  him. 
He  was  a  bright,  intelligent  boy  and 
had  a  sweet  voice,  and  the  organist 
found  him  a  more  apt  pupil  than  any 
of  the  others,  and  had  taken  some 


ZOE.  65 

pains  with  him,  and  when  he  was  ill 
the  winter  before  had  been  to  see 
him,  and  so  had  come  to  know  his 
mother  and  her  liking  for  anything 
young  and  weak  and  tender. 

Their  cottage  was  at  some  distance, 
to  be  sure,  and  Mr.  Robins  had  not  had 
much  to  do  with  babies  of  late  years 
and  was  a  little  distrustful  of  his  ability 
to  carry  one  so  far  without  rousing  it 
and  so  proclaiming  its  presence  ;  but 
there  was  a  path  across  the  fields  but 
little  frequented,  by  which  he  could 
convey  the  child  without  much  risk 
of  being  met  and  observed. 

And  now  the  great  thing  to  aim  at 
was  to  carry  out  his  plan  as  quickly  as 
possible,  before  any  one  was  aware  of 
5 


66  ZOE. 

the  child  being  at  his  house,  and  he 
gathered  up  the  little  warm  bundle  as 
gingerly  as  he  knew  how,  and  was  on 
his  way  to  the  gate  when  the  sound  of 
approaching  steps  along  the  road  made 
him  draw  back,  and  unlocking  the 
door,  carry  the  child  in.  The  steps 
stopped  at  the  gate  and  turned  in, 
and  one  of  the  choirmen  came  to 
the  door. 

There  were  little  movements  and 
soft  grumblings  inside  the  shawl  in  the 
organist's  arms,  and  he  turned  quite 
cold  with  apprehension. 

"  Any  one  at  home  ?  "  sounded  Mil 
let's  jovial  voice  at  the  open  door. 
"  'Evening,  Mr.  Robins  —  are  you 
there?  All  in  the  dark,  eh?  I 


ZOE.  G7 

wanted  a  couple  of  words  with  you 
about  that  song." 

"I'll  come  directly,"  sounded  the 
organist's  voice,  with  a  curious  jogging 
effect  in  it,  such  as  Millet  was  used  to 
sometimes  in  his  conversations  with 
his  wife  at  the  children's  bed-time. 
And  then  Millet  heard  him  go  upstairs, 
and  it  was  some  minutes  before  he 
came  down  again,  and  then  in  such  a 
queer  absent  condition  that  if  it  had 
been  any  other  man  in  the  parish  than 
Mr.  Robins,  whose  sobriety  was  unim 
peachable,  Millet  would  have  said  that 
he  had  had  a  drop  too  much. 

He  did  not  ask  him  in  or  strike  a 
light,  but  stood  at  the  door  answering 
quite  at  haphazard,  and  showing  such 


68  ZOE. 

indifference  on  the  vital  question  of 
a  certain  song  suiting  Millet's  voice 
that  that  usually  good-natured  man 
was  almost  offended. 

"  Well,  I  '11  wish  you  good-evening," 
he  said  at  last  (it  seemed  to  Robins 
that  he  had  been  hours  at  the  door) ; 
"  perhaps  you  '11  just  think  it  over  and 
let  me  know.  Hullo  !  —  is  that  a  cat 
you  have  up  there  ?  I  thought  I 
heard  something  squeal  out  just  then." 

Mr.  Robins  was  not  generally  given 
to  shaking  hands,  —  indeed,  some  of 
the  choir  thought  he  was  too  much 
stuck  up  to  do  so  ;  but  just  then  he 
seized  Millet's  hand  and  shook  it  quite 
boisterously,  at  the  same  time  advanc 
ing  with  the  apparent  intention  of 


ZOE.  69 

accompanying  him  in  a  friendly  man 
ner  to  the  gate,  a  movement  which 
compelled  Millet  to  back  in  the  same 
direction,  and  cut  short  his  farewell 
remarks,  which  frequently  lasted  for 
ten  minutes  or  more.  And  all  the 
way  to  the  gate  Eobins  was  talking 
much  quicker  and  louder  than  was  his 
usual  custom,  and  he  ended  by  almost 
pushing  Millet  out  at  the  gate,  all  the 
time  expressing  great  pleasure  at  hav 
ing  seen  him  and  pressing  him  to 
come  in  again  any  evening  he  could 
spare  the  time  and  have  a  pipe  and  a 
bit  of  supper  with  him, —  such  unheard- 
of  hospitality  that  Millet  went  home 
quite  persuaded  that  the  old  man  was, 
as  he  expressed  it  to  his  wife,  "going 


70  ZOE. 

off  his  chump  ; "  so  that  it  was  quite 
a  relief  to  meet  him  two  days  later 
at  the  choir  practice  as  formal  and 
distant  in  his  manners  as  ever. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Robins  had  hastened 
back  to  his  bedroom  where  the  baby 
lay  asleep  on  his  bed,  for  it  had  been 
really  Jane  Sands'  cat  whose  voice 
Millet  heard  and  not,  as  Mr.  Robins 
believed,  the  waking  child's. 

It  was  quite  dark  up  there,  and  he 
could  only  feel  the  warm,  little  heap 
on  his  bed,  but  he  struck  a  match  to 
look  at  it.  The  shawl  had  fallen 
away,  showing  its  little  dark  head 
and  round  sleeping  face,  with  one  lit 
tle  fist  doubled  up  against  its  cheek 
and  half-open  mouth  and  the  other 


ZOE.  71 

arm  thrown  back,  the  tiny  hand  lying 
with  the  little  moist,  creased  palm 
turned  up, 

"  She  's  like  mother,  I  'm  sure  she 
is."  He  remembered  the  words  and 
scanned  the  small  sleeping  face.  Well, 
perhaps  there  was  a  likeness,  the  eye 
lashes  and  the  gypsy  tint  of  the  com 
plexion  ;  but  just  then  the  match  went 
out  and  the  organist  remembered  there 
was  no  time  to  be  wasted  in  trying  to 
see  likenesses  in  Martin  Blake's  brat. 
But  just  as  he  was  lifting  the  baby 
cautiously  from  his  bed,  a  sudden 
thought  struck  him.  Zoe  was  to  be 
her  name ;  well,  it  should  be  so, 
though  he  had  no  concern  in  her 
name  or  anything  else  ;  so  he  groped 


72 


ZOE. 


about  for  pencil  and  paper  and  wrote 
the  name    in   big   printing   letters  to 
disguise  his  hand  and  make  it  as  dis 
tinct  as  possible,  though  even   so,  as 
we     have     seen    already,    the     name 
caused  considerable  perplexity  to  the 
sponsors.     And    then    he    pinned    the 
paper   on    to    the    shawl,   and    taking 
the  child  in  his  arms  set  out  across 
the  field  path  to  the  Grays'  cottage. 
There  was  a  cold  air,  though  it  was 
a  May  night,  but  the  child  lay  warm 
against  him,  and  he  remembered  how 
its  mother  had  said  she  could  feel  the 
likeness  even   in    the   dark,   and    he 
could  not  resist  laying  his  cold  finger 
on  the  warm   little    cheek  under  the 
shawl;  and  then,  angry  with  himself 


ZOE.  73 

for  the  throb  that  the  touch  sent  to 
his  heart,  hastened  his  steps,  and  had 
soon  reached  the  Grays'  cottage  and 
deposited  his  burden  just  inside  the 
gate,  where  a  few  minutes  after  Gray 
found  it. 

He  could  see  Mrs.  Gray  plainly  as 
she  sat  at  her  work,  a  pleasant, 
motherly  face ;  but  he  did  not  linger 
to  look  at  it,  but  turned  away  and  re 
traced  his  steps  along  the  field  path 
home.  He  found  himself  shivering  as 
he  went ;  the  air  seemed  to  have 
grown  more  chilly  and  penetrating 
without  that  warm  burden  against  his 
heart,  and  the  unaccustomed  weight 
had  made  his  arms  tremble. 

Somehow  the  house  looked  dull  and 


74  ZOE. 

uncomfortable,  though  Jane  Sands  had 
come  in  and  lighted  the  lamp,  and  was 
laying  his  supper.     Upstairs  there  was 
a  hollow  on  his  bed  where  something 
had  lain,  and  by  the  side  of  the  bed  he 
found   a    baby's  woollen    shoe,  which 
might  have  betrayed    him  to  Jane  if 
she  had    gone  upstairs.      But  though 
he  put  it  out  of  sight  directly,    he  felt 
sure    that   the   whole    matter  was   no 
secret  from   Jane,  and    that  she   had 
been  an  accomplice  in  the  trick  that 
had    been    played    on   him,    and    he 
smiled    to  himself   at    the  thought  of 
how  he  had  outwitted  her,  and  of  how 
puzzled   she    must    be  to   know  what 
had  become  of  the  baby. 

He  did  his  best  to  appear  as  tran- 


ZOE.  75 

quil  and  composed  as  usual,  as  if 
nothing  had  happened  to  disturb  the 
ordinary  current  of  his  life,  and  he 
forced  himself  to  make  a  few  remarks 
on  indifferent  subjects  when  she  came 
into  the  room. 

She  had  evidently  been  crying,  and 
was  altogether  in  a  nervous  and  upset 
condition.  She  forgot  half  the  things 
he  wanted  at  supper,  and  her  hand 
trembled  so  that  she  nearly  overturned 
the  lamp.  More  than  once  she 
stopped  and  looked  at  him  as  if  she 
were  nerving  herself  to  speak,  and  he 
knew  quite  well  the  .question  that  was 
trembling  on  her  lips.  "  Where  is  the 
child?  Master,  where  is  the  child?" 
But  he  would  not  help  her  in  any  way, 


76  ZOE. 

and  he  quite  ignored  the  agitation 
that  was  only  too  evident ;  and  even 
when  he  went  into  the  kitchen  to 
fetch  his  pipe,  and  found  her  with  her 
face  buried  in  her  arms  on  the  kitchen 
table,  shaking  with  irrepressible  sobs, 
he  retreated  softly  into  the  passage 
and  called  to  her  to  bring  the  pipe, 
and  when  after  a  long  delay  she 
brought  it  in,  he  was  apparently  ab 
sorbed  in  his  paper,  and  took  no  notice 
of  her  tear-stained  face  and  quivering 
lips. 

He  heard  her  stirring  far  into  the 
night,  and  once  she  went  into  the 
little  room  next  his  that  used  to  be 
his  daughter's  and  which  no  one  had 
used  since  she  left,  and  in  the  silence 


ZOE.  77 

of  the  night  again  he  could  hear  heart 
breaking  sobs  half-stifled. 

"  Poor  soul !  poor  soul !  "  he  said  to 
himself.  "  She  's  a  good  creature  is 
Jane,  and  no  doubt  she  's  bitterly  dis 
appointed.  I  '11  make  it  up  to  her 
somehow.  She 's  a  faithful,  good 
soul ! " 

He  was  restless  and  uncomfortable 
himself,  and  he  told  himself  he  had 
taken  cold  and  was  a  bit  feverish. 
It  was  feverish  fancy,  no  doubt,  that 
made  him  think  the  hollow  where 
the  child's  light  weight  had  rested 
was  still  perceptible,  but  this  fancy 
outlasted  the  fever  of  that  night  and 
the  cold  that  caused  it,  for  there  was 
hardly  a  night  afterwards  when  Mr. 


78  ZOE. 

Robins  did  not  detect  its  presence, 
even  with  all  Jane  Sands'  thorough 
shaking  of  the  feather-bed  and  care 
ful  spreading  of  sheets  and  blankets. 
If  he  dropped  asleep  for  a  minute 
that  night  the  child  was  in  his  arms 
again,  heavy  as  lead,  weighing  him 
down,  down,  down,  into  some  un 
fathomable  gulf,  or  he  was  feeling 
for  it  in  the  dark,  and  its  face  was 
cold  as  death ;  and  more  than  once 
he  woke  with  a  start,  feeling  certain 
that  a  child's  cry  had  sounded  close 
to  his  bed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THERE  is  certainly  a  penalty  paid 
by  people  who  keep  entirely  clear  of 
gossip,  though  it  is  not  by  any  means 
in  proportion  to  the  advantages  they 
gain.  The  penalty  is  that  when  they 
particularly  want  to  hear  any  piece  of 
news,  they  are  not  likely  to  hear  it 
naturally  like  other  people,  but  must 
go  out  of  their  way  to  make  inquiries 
and  evince  a  curiosity  which  at  once 
makes  them  remarkable. 

Now  every  one  in  the  village  except 
Mr.  Robins  heard  of  the  baby  found 
in  the  Grays'  garden,  and  discussed 


80  ZOE. 

how  it  came  there,  hut  it  was  only 
by  overhearing  a  casual  word  here 
and  there  that  the  organist  gathered 
even  so  much  as  that  the  Grays  had 
resolved  to  keep  the  child,  and  were 
not  going-  to  send  it  to  the  work 
house.  Even  Bill  Gray  knew  the 
organist's  ways  too  well  to  trouble 
him  with  the  story,  though  he  was 
too  full  of  it  himself  to  give  his  usual 
attention  at  the  next  choir  practice, 
and  at  every  available  pause  between 
chant  and  hymn  his  head  and  that 
of  the  boy  next  him  were  close  to 
gether  in  deep  discourse. 

It  had  occurred  to  Mr.  Robins'  mind, 
in  the  waking  moments  of  that  rest 
less  night,  that  there  might  have  been, 


ZOE.  81 

nay,  most  probably  was,  some  mark 
on  the  child's  clothes  which  would 
lead  to  its  identification,  and  for  the 
next  few  days,  every  glance  in  his 
direction,  or  for  the  matter  of  that, 
in  any  other  direction,  was  interpreted 
by  him  as  having  some  covert  allu 
sion  to  this  foundling  grandchild  of 
his ;  but  the  conversation  of  some 
men  outside  his  yew-hedge,  which  he 
accidentally  overheard  one  day,  set 
his  anxiety  at  rest. 

From  this  he  gathered  that  it  was 
generally  supposed  to  be  a  child  be 
longing  to  a  gypsy  caravan  that  had 
passed  through  the  village  that  day. 

"  And  I  says,"  said  one  of  the  men 
with  that  slow,  emphatic  delivery  in 


82  ZOE. 

which  the  most  ordinary  sentiments 
are  given  forth  as  if  they  were  wis 
dom  unheard  and  undreamt  of  be 
fore ;  "and  I  don't  mind  who  hears 
me,  as  Gray  did  oughter  set  the  per- 
lice  on  to  'un  to  find  the  heartless 
jade  as  did  'un." 

"Ay,  sure!  so  he  did  oughter; 
but  he  aint  no  gumption,  Gray 
aint;  never  had  neither,  as  have 
known  him  man  and  boy  these  fifty 
year." 

"  My  missus  says,"  went  on  the 
first  speaker,  "  as  she  seed  a  gypsy 
gal  with  just  such  a  brat  as  this  on 
her  arm.  She  come  round  to  par 
son's  back  door  —  my  Liza  's  kitchen 
gal  there  and  telled  her  mother.  She 


ZOE.  83 

were  one  of  them  dressed-up  baggages 
with  long  earrings  and  a  yeller  hand- 
kercher  round  her  head,  a-telling  for 
tunes  ;  coming  round  the  poor,  silly 
gals  with  her  long  tongue  and  sly 
ways.  She  went  in  here,  too."  Mr. 
Robins  guessed,  though  he  could  not 
see,  the  jerk  of  the  thumb  in  his  direc 
tion.  "  Mrs.  Sands  told  me  so  her 
self;" —  the  organist's  listening  was 
quickened  to  yet  sharper  attention  — 
"  she  says  she  had  quite  a  job  to  get 
rid  of  her,  and  thought  she  were  after 
the  spoons  belike.  But  she  says  as 
she  'd  know  the  gal  again  anywheres, 
and  my  missus  says  she  'd  pretty  near 
take  her  davy  to  the  child,  though  as 
I  says,  one  brat 's  pretty  much  like  an- 


84  ZOE. 

other  —  haw,  haw!  though  the  women 
don't  think  it." 

And  the  two  men  parted,  laughing 
over  this  excellent  joke. 

It  was  most  curious  how  that  little 
out-of-the-way  house  of  the  Grays  and 
its  unremarkable  inmates  had  suddenly 
become  conspicuous;  the  very  cottage 
was  visible  from  all  directions,  —  from 
the  churchyard  gate,  from  the  organ 
ist's  garden,  from  various  points  along 
the  Stokeley  road  ;  but  perhaps  this 
may  have  been  because  Mr.  Robins  had 
never  cared  to  identify  one  thatched 
roof  from  another  hitherto.  As  for 
the  Grays,  they  seemed  to  be  every 
where;  that  man  hoeing  in  the  turnip- 
field  was  Gray ;  that  boy  at  the  head 


ZOE.  85 

of  the  team  in  the  big,  yellow  wagon 
was  Torn,  and  Bill  seemed  to  be  all 
over  the  place,  whistling  along  the 
road  or  running  round  the  corner,  or 
waiting  to  change  his  book  at  the 
organist's  gate.  If  Mr.  Clifford  spoke 
to  Mr.  Kobins  it  was  about  something 
to  do  with  the  Grays,  and  even  Mr. 
Wilson  of  Stokeley  stopped  him  in 
the  road  to  ask  if  some  people  called 
Gray  lived  at  Downside.  It  was  most 
extraordinary  how  these  people,  so  in 
significant  a  week  ago,  were  now 
brought  into  prominence. 

Even  before  Mr.  Robins  had  over 
heard  that  conversation  he  had  had 
a  fidgety  sort  of  wish  to  go  up  to  the 
Grays'  cottage,  and  now  he  made  a 


86  ZOE. 

pretext  of  asking  for  a  book  he  had 
lent  Bill,  but  went  before  the  school 
came  out,  so  that  only  Mrs.  Gray  was 
at  home  as  he  opened  the  gate  and 
went  up  the  path. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  sunny  afternoon, 
and  Mrs.  Gray  was  sitting  outside  the 
door,  making,  plain  as  she  was,  a 
pretty  picture  with  the  shadows  of  the 
young  vine-leaves  over  the  door  dap 
pling  her  print  gown  and  apron  and 
the  baby's  little  dark  head  and  pink 
pinafore,  —  a  garment  that  had  once 
been  Bill's,  who  had  been  of  a  more 
robust  build  than  this  baby,  and  more 
over  had  worn  the  pinafore  at  a  more 
advanced  age,  so  that  the  fit  left  a 
good  deal  to  be  desired,  and  the  color 


ZOE.  87 

had  suffered  in  constant  visits  to  the 
wash-tub,  and  was  not  so  bright  as  it 
had  been  originally. 

But  altogether  the  faded  pinafore 
and  the  vine-leaf  shadows,  and  the 
love  in  the  woman's  face,  made  a  har 
monious  whole,  and  the  song  she  was 
singing,  without  a  note  of  sweetness 
or  tune  in  it,  did  not  jar  on  the  organ 
ist's  ear,  as  you  might  have  supposed, 
knowing  his  critical  and  refined  taste. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Gray,"  he 
said ;  "  I  came  for  the  book  I  lent 
your  son  the  other  day.  Why,  is  this 
your  baby  ?  "  he  added,  with  unneces 
sarily  elaborate  dissimulation.  "  I  did 
not  know  you  had  any  so  young." 

"  Mine  ?    Lor'  bless  you,  no.     Aint 


88  ZOE. 

you  heard?  Why,  I  thought  it  was 
all  over  the  place.  Gray,  he  found  it 
in  the  garden  just  there  where  you  be 
standing,  a  week  ago  come  to-morrow. 
Aint  she  a  pretty  dear,  bless  her !  and 
takes  such  notice  too,  as  is  wonderful. 
Why,  she  's  looking  at  }^ou  now  as  if 
she  'd  aknown  you  all  her  life.  Just 
look  at  her !  if  she  aint  smiling  at 
you,  a  little  puss!  " 

"  Where  did  she  come  from  ?  " 
"  Well,  sure,  who  's  to  know  ?  There 
was  some  gypsy  folks  through  the 
place,  and  there  Ve  been  a  lot  of 
tramps  about  along  of  Milton  Fair, 
and  there  was  one  of  'em,  they  say, 
a  week  or  two  ago  with  just  such  a 
baby  as  this  'un.  My  master  he  Ve 


ZOE.  89 

made  a  few  enquirements ;  but  there  ! 
for  my  part  I  don't  care  if  we  don't 
hear  no  more  of  her  folks,  and  Gray  's 
much  of  the  same  mind,  having  took  a 
terrible  fancy  to  the  child.  And  it's 
plain  as  she  aint  got  no  mother  worth 
the  name,  as  would  leave  her  like  that, 
and  neglected,  too,  shameful.  As  there 
aint  no  excuse,  to  my  way  of  thinking 
for  a  baby  being  dirty,  let  folks  be  as 
poor  as  they  may." 

Somewhere  deep  down  in  Mr. 
Robins'  mind,  unacknowledged  to 
himself,  there  was  a  twinge  of  resent 
ment  at  this  reflection  on  the  mother's 
treatment  of  the  baby. 

"  She 's  as  sweet  as  a  blossom  now," 
went  on  Mrs.  Gray,  tossing  the  baby 


90  ZOE. 

up,  who  laughed  and  crowed  and 
stretched  its  arms.  Yes,  he  could  see 
the  likeness,  he  was  sure  of  it ;  and  it 
brought  back  to  his  mind  with  sudden 
vividness  a  young  mother's  look  of 
pride  and  love  as  she  held  up  her  lit 
tle  girl  for  the  father's  admiration. 
Mother  and  child  had  then  been  won 
derfully  alike,  and  in  this  baby  he 
could  trace  a  likeness  to  both. 

Mrs.  Gray  went  maundering  on,  as 
her  manner  was,  interspersing  her 
narrative  with  baby  nonsense  and  en 
dearments,  and  Mr.  Robins  forgot  his 
errand,  which  was  after  all  only  a 
pretext,  and  stood  half-listening  and 
more  than  half  back  in  the  old  days  of 
memory ;  and  once  he  so  far  forgot 


ZOE.  91 

himself  as  to  snap  his  fingers  at  the 
child,  and  touch  one  of  its  warm,  little 
hands,  which  immediately  closed  round 
his  finger  with  a  baby's  soft,  tenacious 
grasp,  from  which  it  required  a  certain 
gentle  effort  to  escape. 

"  A  pleasant,  chatty  sort  of  man  the 
organist,"  Mrs.  Gray  said,  having 
talked  nearly  all  the  time  herself,  with 
only  a  word  or  two  from  him  now  and 
then  as  reply  ;  "  and  not  a  bit  of  pride 
about  him,  let  folks  say  what  they 
like.  Why,  he  stopped  ever  so  long 
and  had  a  deal  to  say  ;  and  there,  Bill, 
you  just  run  down  with  the  book,  as 
he  went  off  after  all  without  it." 

Mr.  Robins  went  home  slowly  across 
the  fields  in  a  curiously  softened  frame 


92  ZOE. 

of  mind.  Perhaps  it  was  the  soft  west 
wind,  fragrant  with  sweet  spring 
scents  of  cowslips  and  cherry  blossom, 
or  the  full  glad  sunshine  on  all  the 
varied  green  of  tree  and  hedge,  a 
thousand  tints  of  that  "  shower  of 
greennesses  "  poured  down  so  lavishly 
by  the  Giver  of  all  good  things  ;  per 
haps  it  was  the  larks  springing  up 
from  the  clover  in  such  an  ecstasy  of 
song  ;  or  perhaps  it  was  the  clasp  of  a 
baby's  hand  on  his  finger.  He  noticed 
the  spring  beauty  round  him  as  he 
had  not  noticed  such  things  for  many 
a  day,  stooping  to  pick  a  big,  tasselled, 
gold-freckled  cowslip,  and  stopping  to 
let  a  newly-fledged,  awkward  young 
bird  hop  clumsily  out  of  the  way, 


ZOE.  93 

with  a  sort  of  tenderness  and  consid 
eration  for  young  things  unusual  to 
him. 

His  mind  was  more  at  rest  than  it 
had  been  for  the  last  three  weeks. 
The  baby's  crowing  laughter  seemed 
to  drive  out  of  his  memory  the  wail 
ing  cry  and  the  hollow  cough  and  the 
sad,  beseeching-  voice  saying  "  Father," 
and  then  the  pitiless  beating  rain, 
which  had  been  haunting  him  for  the 
last  three  weeks.  The  sight  of  the 
baby,  loved  and  cared  for,  had  taken 
away  a  misgiving,  which  he  had 
hardly  been  conscious  of  himself. 
After  all,  he  had  not  done  badly  by 
the  child.  Mrs.  Gray  was  a  kind, 
motherly  sort  of  body,  and  used  to 


94  ZOE. 

babies,  which  Jane  Sands  was  not,  and 
she  would  do  well  by  the  child,  and 
he  himself  could  see,  without  any  one 
being  the  wiser,  that  the  child  did  not 
want  for  anything,  though  he  would 
not  be  held  responsible  in  any  way 
for  it. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THERE  was  one  thing  that  puzzled  Mr. 
Robins  extremely,  and  this  was  Jane 
Sands'  behavior.  He  was  convinced 
that  she  had  been  a  party  to  the 
trick  that  had  been  played  off  on 
him,  and  she  was  evidently  full  of 
some  secret  trouble  and  anxiety,  for 
which  he  could  only  account  by  at 
tributing  it  to  her  disappointment 
about  the  baby,  and  perhaps  distrust 
of  the  care  that  would  be  taken  of 
it  by  others. 

Mr.  Robins  often  discovered  her  in 
tears,  and  she  was  constantly  going 


96  ZOE. 

out  for  hours  at  a  time,  having  al 
ways  hitherto  been  almost  too  much 
of  a  stay-at-home.  He  suspected  that 
these  lengthened  absences  meant  visits 
to  the  Grays'  cottage  and  that  baby- 
worship  that  women  find  so  delight 
ful  ;  but  he  found  out  accidentally 
that  she  had  never  been  near  the 
cottage  since  the  baby's  arrival,  and 
when  he  made  an  excuse  of  sending 
a  book  by  her  to  Bill  to  get  her  to 
go  there,  she  met  the  boy  at  the 
bottom  of  the  lane  and  did  not  go 
on  to  the  cottage. 

As  to  what  he  had  overheard  the 
men  saying  about  the  gypsy  girl,  he 
felt  sure  that  Jane  had  only  said  this 
to  put  people  on  the  wrong  scent. 


ZOE.  97 

though,  certainly,  deception  of  any 
sort  was  very  unlike  her.  Once  he 
found  her  sitting  up  late  at  night  at 
work  on  some  small  frocks  and  pina 
fores,  and  he  thought  that  at  last 
the  subject  was  coming  to  the  sur 
face,  and  especially  as  she  colored 
up  and  tried  to  hide  the  work  when 
he  came  in. 

"  Busy  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  seem  very 
hard  at  work.  Who  are  you  working 

•/  o 

for  ?  " 

"  A  baby,"  she  stammered,  "  a 
baby  —  that  my  sister  's  taking  care 
of." 

She  was  so  red  and  confused  that 
he  felt  sure  she  was  saving  what  was 

./       o 

not  true,  but  he  forgave  her  for  the 

7 


98  ZOE. 

sake  of  the  baby  for  whom  he  firmly 
believed  the  work  was  being  done, 
and  who,  to  be  sure,  when  he  saw  it 
in  Mrs.  Gray's  arms,  looked  badly  in 
want  of  clothes  more  fitted  to  its  size 
than  Bill's  old  pinafores. 

He  stood  for  a  minute  fingering 
the  pink,  spotted  print  of  infantile 
simplicity  of  pattern,  and  listening  to 
the  quick  click,  click,  of  her  needle 
as  it  flew  in  and  out ;  but  it  was  not 
till  he  had  turned  away  and  was  half 
out  of  the  kitchen  that  she  began  a 
request  that  had  been  on  the  tip  of 
her  tongue  all  the  time,  but  which 
she  had  not  ventured  to  bring  out 
while  he  stood  at  the  table. 

"  I  was  going  to  ask,  if  you  'd  no 


ZOE.  99 

objection,  seeing  that  they  're  no  good 
to  any  one  —  " 

Now  it  was  coming  out,  and  he 
turned  with  an  encouraging  smile. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  There  are  some  old  baby-clothes 
put  away  in  a  drawer  upstairs. 
They're  rough  dried,  and  I've  kept 
an  eye  on  them,  and  took  them  out 
now  and  then  to  see  as  the  moth 
didn't  get  in  them  —  " 

u  Yes  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  this  baby  that  I  ?rn  work 
ing  for  is  terrible  short  of  clothes,  and 
I  thought  I  might  take  a  few  of  them 
for  her—" 

She  did  not  look  at  him  once  as 
she  spoke,  or  she  might  have  been 


100  ZOE. 

encouraged  by  the  look  on  his  face, 
which  softened  into  a  very  benignant, 
kindly  expression. 

"  To  be  sure  !  to  be  sure  ! "  he 
said.  "  1  've  no  objection  to  your 
taking  some  of  them  for  the  baby  — 
at  your  sister's."  He  spoke  the  last 
words  with  some  meaning,  and  she 
looked  quickly  up  at  him  and  dropped 
her  work  as  if  tumultuous  words  were 
pressing  to  be  spoken,  but  stopped 
them  with  an  effort  and  went  on  with 
her  work,  only  with  heightened  color 
and  trembling  fingers. 

o  o 

She  was  not  slow  to  avail  herself 
of  his  permission,  for  that  very  night 
before  she  went  to  bed  he  heard  her 
in  the  next  room  turning  out  the 


ZOE.  101 


drawer  where  the  old 
had  been  stored  away  ::eveJf  ,3hie£J  it-: 
tie  Edith  had  discarded  them  for 
clothes  of  a  larger  size.  And  next 
morning  she  was  up  betimes,  starch 
ing  and  ironing  and  goffering  dainty 
little  frills  with  such  a  look  of  love 
and  satisfaction  on  her  face,  that  he 
had  not  the  heart  to  hint  that  she 
had  availed  herself  somewhat  liber 
ally  of  his  permission,  and  that  less 
dainty  care  and  crispness  might  do 
equally  well  for  the  baby,  bundled 
up  in  Mrs.  Gray's  kind  but  crump 
ling  arms,  to  take  the  place  of  Bill's 
faded  pinafore. 

That   afternoon  he  purposely  took 
his  way  home  over  the   hillside  and 


102  ZOE. 

down- the  lane  by  the  Grays'  cottage, 
witlt\a.,epn,v.ictioi'i  that  he  should  see 
the  baby  tricked  out  in  some  of  those 
frilled  and  tucked  little  garments  over 
which  Jane  Sands  had  lavished  so  much 
time  and  attention  that  morning.  But 
to  his  surprise  he  saw  her  in  much  the 
same  costume  as  before,  only  the  pina 
fore  this  time  was  washed-out  laven 
der  instead  of  pink,  and  as  she  was  in 
Bill's  arms,  and  he,  as  the  youngest 
of  the  family,  being  inexperienced  in 
nursing,  a  more  crumpled  effect  was 
produced  than  his  mother  had  done. 
He  could  only  conclude  that  Jane 
had  not  found  time  yet  to  take  the 
things,  or  that  Mrs.  Gray  was  reserv 
ing  them  for  a  more  showy  occasion. 


ZOE.  103 

But  he  found  Jane  just  returning 
as  he  came  up  to  his  house,  and  she 
looked  far  more  hot  and  dusty  than 
the  short  walk  up  the  lane  to  the 
Grays  accounted  for,  but  with  a  beam 
ing  look  on  her  kind  face  that  had 
not  been  there  for  many  a  day. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  Jane,  have  you 
been  to  Stokeley  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "  and  I  took  the 
things  you  were  good  enough  to  say 
the  baby  might  have.  They  were 
pleased." 

She,  too,  spoke  with  a  curious 
meaning  in  her  voice  and  manner 
which  somehow  faded  when  she  saw 
the  want  of  response  in  his  face.  In 
deed  there  was  a  very  distinct  feel- 


104  ZOE. 

ing  of  disappointment  and  irritation 
in  his  feelings.  For  after  all  those 
clothes  had  actually  gone  to  some 
other  baby.  Well !  well !  it  is  a  self 
ish  world  after  all,  and  each  of  us 
has  his  own  interests  which  take  him 
up  and  engross  him.  No  doubt  this 
little  common  child  at  Stokeley  was 
all  in  all  to  Jane  Sands,  and  she  was 
glad  enough  of  a  chance  to  pick  all 
the  best  out  of  those  baby-clothes  up 
stairs  that  he  remembered  his  young 
wife  preparing  so  lovingly  for  her 
baby  and  his.  It  gave  him  quite  a 
pang  to  think  of  some  little  Sands 
or  Jenkins  adorned  with  these  tucks 
he  had  seen  run  so  carefully  and 
frills  sewn  so  daintily.  He  had  evi- 


ZOE.  105 

dently  given  Jane  credit  for  a  great 
deal  more  unselfishness  and  devotion 
to  him  and  his  than  she  really  felt, 
for  she  had  all  the  time  been  busy 
working  and  providing  for  her  own 
people  when  he  had  thought  she  was 
full  of  consideration  for  Edith's  child. 
Pshaw  !  he  had  to  pull  himself  to 
gether  and  take  himself  to  task;  for 
even  in  these  few  days  he  had  grown 
to  think  of  that  little  brown-faced, 
dark-eyed  baby  as  his  grandchild,  in 
stead  of  Martin  Blake's  brat.  Insen 
sibly  and  naturally,  too,  the  child  had 
brought  back  the  memory  of  its  mother, 
first  as  baby,  then  as  sweet  and  win 
some  little  child;  then  as  bright,  wil 
ful,  coaxing  girl,  and,  lastly,  unless  he 


106  ZOE. 

kept  his  thoughts  well  in  check,  there 
followed  on  these  brighter  memories 
the  shadow  of  a  white,  worn  woman 
under  the  yew-tree  in  the  churchyard, 
and  of  a  voice  that  said  "  Father." 

That  uninteresting  child  at  Stokeley 
apparently  required  a  great  supply  of 
clothes,  for  Jane  Sands  was  hard  at 
work  again  that  evening,  and  when 
he  came  in  from  the  choir  practice, 
he  heard  her  singing  over  her  work 
as  she  used  to  do  in  old  days,  and 
when  he  went  in  for  his  pipe  she 
looked  up  with  a  smile  that  seemed 
to  expect  a  sympathetic  response,  and 
made  no  effort  to  conceal  the  work  as 
she  had  done  the  day  before. 

He  stood  morosely  by  the  fireplace 


XOE.  107 

for  a  minute,  shaking  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe. 

"  You  're  very  much  taken  up  with 
that  baby,"  he  said  crossly  ;  and  she 
looked  up  quickly,  thinking  that  per 
haps  he  had  a  hole  in  his  stocking  or 
a  button  off  his  shirt  to  complain  of, 
as  a  consequence  of  her  being  en 
grossed  in  other  work.  But  he  went 
on  without  looking  at  her,  and  appar 
ently  deeply  absorbed  in  getting  an 
obstinate  bit  of  ash  out  of  the  pipe 
bowl. 

"  There 's  a  child  at  Mrs.  Gray's 
they  say  is  very  short  of  clothes. 
That  baby,  you  know  —  " 

"  That  baby  that  was  found  in  the 
garden/'  Jane  said,  in  such  a  curiously 


108  ZOE. 

uninterested  tone  of  voice  that  he 
could  not  resist  glancing  round  at  her ; 
but  she  was  just  then  engaged  in  that 
mysterious  process  of  "  stroking  the 
gathers,"  which  the  intelligent  femi 
nine  reader  will  understand  requires  a 
certain  attention.  If  this  indifference 
were  assumed,  Jane  Sands  was  a  much 
better  actor  and  a  more  deceptive  char 
acter  than  he  had  believed  possible ; 
if  she  were  too  entirely  absorbed  in 
her  own  people  to  give  even  a  thought 
to  her  young  mistress's  baby,  she  was 
not  the  Jane  Sands  he  thought  he  had 
known  for  the  last  twenty  years.  The 
only  alternative  was  that  she  knew 
nothing  about  the  baby  having  been 
left  on  his  door-step,  nor  of  the  meet- 


ZOE.  109 

ing  with  his  daughter  in  the  church 
yard  which  had  preceded  it. 

What  followed  convinced  him  that 
this  was  the  case,  though  it  also  a  lit 
tle  favored  the  other  hypothesis  of  her 
selfish  absorption  in  her  own  people. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  "you  could 
look  out  some  of  those  baby  things 
upstairs  if  there  are  any  left." 

"  What  ?  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 
What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Those  baby -clothes  upstairs  that 
you  gave  to  your  sister's  baby." 

"  Those  !  "  she  said,  with  a  strange 
light  of  indignation  in  her  eyes,  more 
even  than  you  would  have  expected 
in  the  most  grasping  and  greedy  per 
son  on  a  proposal  that  something 


HO    .  ZOE. 

should  be  snatched  from  her  hungry 
maw  and  given  to  another.  "  Those  ! 
Little  Miss  Edith's  things!  that  her 
own  mother  made  and  that  I  've  kept 
so  careful  all  these  years  in  case  Miss 
Edith's  own  should  need  them !  " 

You  see  she  forgot  in  the  excite 
ment  of  the  moment  that  these  were 
the  very  things  she  had  been  giving 
away  so  freely  to  that  common  little 
child  at  Stokeley;  but  women  are  so 
inconsistent. 

"Well?"  he  said,  as  her  breath 
failed  her  in  this  unusual  torrent  of 
remonstrance.  "  Why  not  ?  " 

"  For  a  little  gypsy  child  !  a  found 
ling  that  nobody  knows  anything 
about!  Don't  do  it,  master,  don't! 


ZOE.  Ill 

I  could  n't  abear  to  see  it.  Here,  let 
me  get  a  bit  of  print  and  flannel  and 
run  together  a  few  things  for  the 
child.  I  'd  rather  do  it  a  hundred 
times  than  that  those  things  should  be 
given  away,  —  and  just  now  too  !  " 

It  was  very  plain  to  Mr.  Robins 
that  she  did  not  know;  but  all  the 
same  he  was  half  inclined  to  point  out 
that  it  was  not  a  much  more  outrage 
ous  thing  to  bestow  these  cherished 
garments  on  a  foundling  than  on  her 
sister's  baby  ;  but  she  was  evidently  so 
unconscious  of  her  inconsistency  in 
the  matter  that  he  did  not  know  how 
to  suggest  it  to  her. 

"  I  'm  going  into  Stokeley  to 
morrow,"  she  went  on,  "  and  if  you 


112  ZOE. 

liked  I  could  get  some  print  and  make 
it  a  few  frocks.  I  saw  some  very  neat 
at  fourpence  three-farthings  that  would 
wash  beautiful,  and  a  good  stout  flan 
nel  at  elevenpence.  Oh !  not  like 
that,"  she  said,  as  he  laid  a  finger  on 
some  soft  Saxony  flannel  with  a  pink 
edge  which  lay  on  the  table ;  "  some 
thing  more  serviceable  for  a  poor 
person's  child." 

Well,  perhaps  it  was  better  that 
Jane  should  not  know  who  the  baby 
was  of  whom  she  spoke  so  contemptu 
ously.  A  baby  was  none  the  better  or 
healthier  for  being  dressed  up  in  frills 
and  lace ;  and  Mrs.  Gray  was  a 
thoroughly  clean,  motherly  woman, 
and  would  do  well  by  the  child. 


ZOE.  113 

All  the  same,  when  Jane  came  back 
from  Stokeley  next  day  and  unfolded 
the  parcel  she  had  brought  from  the 
draper's  there,  he  could  not  help  feel 
ing  that  that  somewhat  dingy  laven 
der,  though  it  might  wash  like  a  rag, 
was,  to  say  the  least,  uninteresting, 
and  the  texture  of  the  flannel,  even  to 
his  uncliscriminating  eye,  was  a  trifle 
rough  and  coarse  for  baby  limbs. 

He  knew  nothing  (how  should  he  ?  ) 
of  the  cut  and  make  of  baby-clothes, 
but  somehow,  these,  under  Jane's 
scissors  and  needle,  did  not  take  such 
attractive  proportions  as  those  she  had 
prepared  for  the  other  baby;  nor  did 
the  stitches  appear  so  careful  and 
minute,  though  Jane's  worst  enemy,  if 

8 


114  ZOE. 

she  had  any,  could  not  have  accused 
her  of  putting  bad  work  even  into  the 
hem  of  a  duster,  let  alone  a  baby's 
frock.  He  also  noticed  that,  industri 
ously  as  she  worked  at  the  lavender 
print,  her  ardor  was  not  sufficient  to 
last  beyond  bedtime,  and  that  when 
the  clock  struck  ten,  her  work  was 
put  away  without  any  apparent  re 
luctance,  even  when,  to  all  appear 
ances,  it  was  so  near  completion  that 
any  one  would  have  given  the  requis 
ite  ten  minutes  just  from  the  mere 
lust  of  finishing. 

That  Sunday  afternoon  when  the 
curious  name  Zoe,  sounding  across  the 
church  in  the  strange  clergyman's 
voice,  startled  the  organist,  who  had 


ZOE.  115 

not  expected  the  christening  to  take 
place  that  day,  one  of  the  distracting 
thoughts  which  made  him  make  so 
many  mistakes  in  the  music  was  won 
dering  what  Jane  Sands  would  think 
of  the  name,  and  whether  it  would 
rouse  any  suspicion  in  her  mind  and 
enlighten  her  a  little  as  to  who  the 
baby  at  Mrs.  Gray's  really  was.  The 
name  was  full  of  memories  and  associ 
ations  to  him ;  surely  it  must  be  also  a 
little  to  Jane  Sands. 

But  of  all  Sunday  afternoons  in  the 
year,  she  had  chosen  this  to  go  over 
to  Stokeley  church.  Why,  parson  and 
clerk  were  hardly  more  regular  in 
their  attendance  than  Jane  Sands  as  a 
rule ;  it  was  almost  an  unheard-of 


116  ZOE. 

thing  for  her  seat  to  be  empty.  But 
to-day  it  was  so,  and  the  row  of  little 
boys  whom  her  gentle  presence  gener 
ally  awed  into  tolerable  behavior  in- 

»/ 

dulged  unchecked  in  all  the  ingenious 
naughtiness  that  infant  mind  and 
body  are  capable  of  in  church. 

She  came  in  rather  late  with  his 
tea,  apologizing  for  having  kept  him 
waiting. 

"It  was  christening  Sunday,"  she 
said,  and  then  she  looked  at  him 
rather  wistfully. 

Perhaps  she  has  heard,  he  thought ; 
perhaps  the  neighbors  have  told  her 
the  name,  and  she  is  beginning  to 
guess. 

"  And  the  baby  has  been  called  - 


ZOE.  117 

she  hesitated  and  glanced  timidly  at 
him. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  encouragingly? 
"  what  is  the  name  ?  " 

"Edith/*  she  answered,  "was  one 
name.'' 

Pshaw !  it  was  the  baby  at  her 
sister's  she  was  talking  of  all  the  time ! 
He  turned  irritably  away. 

"  He  can 't  bear  to  hear  the  name, 
even  now ;  or,  perhaps,  he  's  cross  at 
being  kept  waiting  for  tea,"  thought 
Jane  Sands. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

As  spring  glided  into  summer,  and 
June's  long,  bright,  hay-scented  days 
passed  by,  followed  by  July,  with  its 
hot  sun  pouring  down  on  the  ripen 
ing  wheat  and  shaven  hay  fields,  and 
on  the  trees,  which  had  settled  down 
into  the  monotonous  green  of  sum 
mer,  the  little,  brown-faced  baby  at 
the  Grays'  throve  and  flourished,  and 
entwined  itself  round  the  hearts  of  the 
kindly  people  in  whose  care  Provi 
dence,  by  the  hands  of  the  organist, 
had  placed  it.  It  grew  close  to  them 
like  the  branches  of  the  Virginia 


ZOE.  119 

creeper  against  a  battered,  ugly,  old 
wall,  putting  out  those  dainty  little 
hands  and  fingers  that  cling  so  close 
not  even  the  roughest  wind  or  driv 
ing  rain  can  tear  them  apart.  Gray, 
coming  in  dirty  and  tired  in  the  eve 
ning,  after  a  long  day's  work  in  the 
hayfield  or  carting  manure,  was  never 
too  tired,  nor  for  the  matter  of  that 
too  dirty,  to  take  the  baby,  and  let 
it  dab  its  fat  hands  on  his  face,  or  claw 
at  his  grizzled  whiskers,  or  slobber 
open-mouthed  kisses  on  his  cheeks. 

Tom  —  who  had  bought  a  blue  tie 
and  begun  taking  Mary  Jane,  dairy 
maid  at  the  farm,  out  walking  on  a 
Sunday  evening,  for  at  the  age  of 
sixteen,  and  on  three-and-sixpence  a 


120 


ZOE. 


week,  it  is  natural  and  usual  to  think 
of  matrimony  -  -  Tom,  I  say,  let  Zoe 
keep  him  from  his  siren  and  scrabble 
at  that  vivid  neckjtie,  and  pull  the  bit 
of  southernwood  out  of  his  button 
hole  and  rumple  his  well-oiled  locks 
out  of  all  symmetry ;  while  Bill  ex 
pended  boundless  ingenuity  and  time 
in  cutting  whistles  and  fashioning 
whirligigs,  which  were  summarily  dis 
posed  of  directly  they  got  into  the 
baby's  hands. 

As  for  Mrs.  Gray,  it  is  unnecessary 
to  say  that  she  was  the  most  complete 
slave  of  all  Zoe's  abject  subjects,  and 
the  neighbors  all  agreed  that  she  was 
downright  silly  like  over  that  little, 
brown-faced  brat  as  was  no  better  — 


ZOE.  121 

no,  nor  nothing  to  hold  a  candle  to 
my  Johnnie,  or  Dolly,  or  Bobby,  as 
the  case  might  be. 

An  unprejudiced  observer  might 
have  thought  that  Mrs.  Gray  had 
some  reason  for  her  high  opinion  of 
Zoe,  for  she  was  certainly  a  very 
much  prettier  baby  than  the  majority 
in  Downside,  who  were  generally  of 
the  dumpling  type,  with  two  currants 
for  eyes.  And  she  was  also  a  very 
good  baby.  "  And  easy  enough  too 
for  any  one  to  be  good  !  "  would  be 
the  comment  of  any  listening  Down 
side  mother,  "  when  they  always  gets 
their  own  way ;  "  which,  however, 
is  not  so  obvious  a  truth  as  regards 
babies  under  a  year  as  it  is  of  older 


122  ZOE. 

people.  Certainly  to  be  put  to  bed 
awake  and  smiling  at  seven  o'clock, 
and  thereupon  to  go  to  sleep  and 
sleep  soundly  till  seven  o'clock  next 
morning,  shows  an  amount  of  virtue 
in  a  baby  which  is  unhappily  rare, 
though  captious  readers  may  attri 
bute  it  rather  to  good  health  and 
digestion,  —  which  may  also  be  cred 
ited,  perhaps,  with  much  virtue  in 
older  people. 

"And  I  do  say,"  Mrs.  Gray  was 
never  tired  of  repeating  to  any  one 
who  had  patience  to  listen,  "  as  noth 
ing  would  n't  upset  that  blessed  little 
angel,  as  it  makes  me  quite  uneasy 
thinking  as  how  she's  too  good  to  live, 
as  is  only  natural  to  mortal  babies  to 


ZOE.  123 

have  the  tantrums  now  and  then,  if 
it's  only  from  stomach-ache." 

The  only  person  who  seemed  to 
sympathize  in  the  Grays'  admiration 
for  the  baby  was  the  organist.  It 
was  really  wonderful,  Mrs.  Gray  said, 
the  fancy  he  had  taken  to  the  child. 
"  Ay,  and  the  child  to  him,  too, 
perking  up  and  looking  quite  peart 
like,  as  soon  as  ever  his  step  come 
along  the  path."  The  wonder  was 
mostly  in  the  baby  taking  to  him, 
in  Mrs.  Gray's  opinion,  as  there  was 
nothing  to  be  surprised  at  in  any  one 
taking  to  the  baby ;  but  "  he,  with 
no  chick  nor  child  of  his  own,  and 
with  that  quiet  kind  of  way  with 
him  as  aint  general  what  children 


124  XOE. 

like,  —  though  don't  never  go  for  to 
tell  me  as  Mr.  Robins  is  proud  and 
stuck  up,  as  I  knows  better." 

There  was  a  sort  of  fascination  about 
the  child  to  the  organist,  and  when 
he  found  that  no  one  seemed  to  have 
the  slightest  suspicion  as  to  who  the 
baby  really  was,  or  why  he  should  be 
interested  in  it,  he  gave  way  more 
and  more  to  the  inclination  to  go  to 
the  Grays'  cottage,  and  watch  the  lit 
tle  thing,  and  trace  the  likeness  that 
seemed  every  day  to  grow  more  and 
more  strong  to  his  dead  wife  and  to 
her  baby  girl. 

Perhaps  any  one  sharper  and  less 
simple  than  Mrs.  Gray  might  have 
grown  suspicious  of  some  other  reason 


ZOE.  125 

than  pure,  disinterested  admiration  for 
little  Zoe  as  the  cause  which  brought 
the  organist  so  often  to  her  house  ; 
and  perhaps  if  the  cottage  had  stood 
in  the  village  street,  it  might  have 
occasioned  remarks  among  the  neigh 
bors  ;  but  he  had  always,  of  late 
years,  been  so  reserved  and  solitary 
a  man  that  no  notice  was  taken  of 
his  coinings  and  goings,  and  if  his 
way  took  him  frequently  over  the 
hillside  and  down  the  lane  —  wrhy  ! 
it  was  a  very  nice  walk,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  be  surprised  at. 

The  only  person  who  might  have 
noticed  where  he  went,  and  how  long 
he  sometimes  lingered,  was  Jane  Sands, 
and  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  in  old 


126  ZOE. 

days   she   would    have   done   so ;    but 
then,  as  we  have  seen,  she  was  not 
quite  the  same  Jane  Sands  she  used 
to  be,  or  at  any  rate  not  quite  what 
we  used  to  fancy  her,  devoted  above 
all   things  to  her  master  and   his  in 
terests,    but    much    absorbed    in    her 
own    matters    and    in   those   Stokeley 
friends  of  hers.     She  had  asked  for  a 
rise    in    her    wages,    too,    which    Mr. 
Robins  assented   to,  but  without  that 
cordiality  he  might  have  done  a  few 
months   before;   and  he  strongly  sus 
pected    that    when    quarter-day    came 
the    wages    went    the    same    wray    as 
those  baby-clothes,  for  there  was  cer 
tainly  no   outlay  on    her  own    attire, 
which,    though    always    scrupulously 


ZOE.  127 

neat,  seemed  to  him  more  plain  and 
a  shade  more  shabby  than  it  used 
to  be. 

As  the  summer  waxed  and  waned, 
the  love  for  little  Zoe  grew  and 
strengthened  in  the  organist's  heart. 
It  seemed  a  kind  of  possession,  as  if 
a  spell  had  been  cast  on  him  ;  in  old 
times  it  might  have  been  set  down 
to  witchcraft ;  and,  indeed,  it  seemed 
something  of  the  sort  to  himself,  as  if 
a  power  he  could  not  resist  compelled 
him  to  seek  out  the  child,  to  think 
of  it,  to  dream  of  it,  to  have  it  so 
constantly  in  his  mind  and  thoughts 
that  from  there  it  found  its  way  into 
his  heart.  To  us  who  know  his 
secret,  it  may  be  explained  as  the  tie 


128  ZOE. 

of  blood,  the  drawing  of  a  man,  in 
spite  of  himself,  towards  his  own  kith 
and  kin.  Blood  is  thicker  than  water, 
and  the  organist  could  not  reject  this 
baby  grandchild  from  his  natural  feel 
ings,  though  he  might  from  his  house. 
And  beyond  and  above  this  explana 
tion,  we  may  account  for  it,  as  we 
may  for  most  otherwise  unaccount 
able  things,  as  being  the  leading  of 
a  wise  Providence  working  out  a 
divine  purpose. 

Perhaps  the  punishment  that  was  to 
come  to  the  organist  by  the  hands  of 
little  Zoe  —  those  faf,  dimpled,  brown 
hands,  that  flourished  about  in  the  air 
so  joyously  when  he  whistled  a  tune 
to  her  —  began  from  the  very  first, 


ZOE.  129 

for  it  was  impossible  to  think  of  the 
child  without  thinking  of  the  mother, 
for  to  look  at  Zoe  without  seeing  the 
likeness  that  his  fond  fancy  made  far 
plainer  than  it  really  was;  and  to 
think  of  the  mother  and  to  see  her 
likeness  was  to  remember  that  meet 
ing  in  the  churchyard  and  the  sad, 
pleading  voice  and  hollow  cough,  and 
the  cold  denial  he  had  given,  and  the 
beating  rain  and  howling  wind  of  that 

O  o 

dreary  night.  He  grew  by  degrees 
to  excuse  himself  to  himself  and  to 
plead  that  he  was  taken  unawares, 
and  that,  if  she  had  not  taken  his 
answer  as  final,  but  had  followed  him 
to  the  house,  he  should  certainly  have 
relented. 


130  ZOE. 

And  then  he  went  a  step  further. 
I  think  it  was  one  July  day,  when  the 
baby  had  been  more  than  usually  gra 
cious  to  him,  and  he  had  ventured,  in 
Mrs.  Gray's  absence,  to  lift  her  out  of 
the  cradle  and  carry  her  down  the 
garden  path,  finding  her  a  heavier 
weight  than  when  he  had  first  taken 
her  to  the  Grays'  cottage.  She  had 
clapped  her  hands  at  a  great,  velvet- 
bodied  humble  bee,  she  had  nestled 
her  curly  head  into  his  neck,  and  with 
the  feeling  of  her  soft  breath  on  his 
cheek  he  had  said  to  himself:  "  If 
Edith  were  to  cotne  back  now  I  would 
forgive  her  for  the  baby's  sake,  for 
Zoe's  sake."  He  forgot  that  he  had 
need  to  be  forgiven  too.  "  She  will 


ZOE.  131 

come  back/'  he  told  himself,  "  she  will 
come  back  to  see  the  child.  She 
could  not  be  content  to  hear  nothing 
more  of  her  baby  and  never  to  see 
her,  in  spite  of  what  she  said.  And 
when  she  comes  it  shall  be  different, 
for  Zoe's  sake." 

He  wondered  if  Jane  Sands  knew 
where  Edith  was,  or  ever  heard  from 
her.  He  sometimes  fancied  that  she 
did,  and  yet,  if  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  baby,  it  was  hardly  likely  that  she 
had  any  correspondence  with  the 
mother.  He  was  puzzled,  and  more 
than  once  he  felt  inclined  to  let 
her  into  the  secret,  or  at  least  drop 
some  hint  that  might  lead  to  its 
discovery. 


132  ZOE. 

It  pleased  him  to  imagine  her  de 
light  over  Edith's  child,  her  pride  in 
and  devotion  to  it ;  she  would  never 
rest  till  she  had  it  under  her  care,  and 
ousted  Mrs.  Gray  from  all  share  in  lit 
tle  Zoe.  And  yet,  whenever  he  had 
got  so  far  in  his  inclination  to  tell 
Jane,  some  proof  of  her  absorption  in 
that  baby  at  Stokeley,  for  whom  he 
had  a  sort  of  jealous  dislike,  threw 
him  back  upon  himself  and  made  him 
doubt  her  affection  for  her  young  mis 
tress  and  resolve  to  keep  the  secret  to 
himself,  at  any  rate  for  the  present. 

He  came  the  nearest  telling  her  one 
day  in  August,  when,  as  he  was  water 
ing  his  flowers  in  the  evening,  Mrs. 
Gray  passed  the  gate  with  that  very 


ZOE.  133 

little  Zoe,  who  was  so  constantly  in 
his  thoughts. 

She  had  a  little  white  sun  bonnet 
on,  which  Jane  Sands  had  actually  be 
stowed  upon  her,  —  rather  grudgingly, 
it  is  true,  and  only  because  there  was 
some  defect  about  it  which  made  it 
unworthy  of  the  pampered  child  at 
Stokeley.  Zoe  saw  the  organist,  or 
at  least  Mrs.  Gray  imagined  that  she 
did,  for  the  cry  she  gave  might  equally 
well  have  been  intended  as  a  greeting 
to  a  pig  down  in  the  ditch. 

"  Well  a-never,  who  'd  'a'  thought  i 
she  see  you  ever  so  far  off,  bless  her  ! 
and  give  such  a  jump  as  pretty  near 
took  her  out  of  my  arms.  Why,  there  ! 
Mr.  Robins  don't  want  you,  Miss 


134  ZOE. 

Saucy,  no  one  don't  want  such  rub- 
biclge ;  a  naughty,  tiresome  gal !  as 
won't  go  to  sleep,  but  keeps  jumping 
and  kicking  and  looking  about  till  my 
arm 's  fit  to  drop  with  aching." 

Jane  Sands  was  sitting  at  work  just 
outside  the  kitchen  door  at  the  side  of 
the  house.  He  had  seen  her  there 
a  minute  ago  when  he  filled  the 
watering-can  at  the  pump,  and  a  sud 
den  impulse  came  into  his  mind  to 
show  her  the  child. 

He  did  not  quite  decide  what  he 
should  say,  or  what  he  should  do, 
when  the  recognition,  which  he  felt 
sure  was  unavoidable,  followed  the 
sight  of  the  child  ;  but  he  just  yielded 
to  the  impulse  and  took  the  child  from 


ZOE.  135 

Mrs.  Gray's  arms  and  carried  her 
round  to  the  back  door.  The  recog 
nition  was  even  more  instantaneous 
than  he  had  expected.  As  he  came 
round  the  corner  of  the  house  with 
the  little  white-bonneted  girl  in  his 
arms,  Jane  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of 
glad  surprise  and  delight,  such  as 
swept  away  in  a  moment  all  his  doubt 
of  her  loyalty  to  him  and  his,  and  all 
his  remembrance  of  her  absorption  in 
that  little  common  child  at  Stokeley. 
She  made  a  step  forward  and  then 
stood  perfectly  still,  and  the  light  and 
gladness  faded  out  of  her  face,  and 
her  hands,  that  had  been  stretched 
out  in  delighted  greeting,  fell  dull  and 
lifeless  to  her  sides. 


136  ZOE. 

He  said  nothing,  but  held  the  child 
towards  her;  it  was  only  natural  that 
she  should  doubt,  being  so  unprepared, 
but  a  second  glance  would  convince 
her. 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  looking  the 
baby  over,  with  what  in  a  less  kind, 
gentle  face  might  have  been  quite  a 
hard,  critical  manner,  "  I  thought  for 
a  minute  —  " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  I  was  mistaken,"  she  said  ;  "  of 
course  I  was  mistaken."  And  then 
she  added  to  herself  more  than  to 
him,  "It  is  not  a  bit  like- 

"  Look  again,"  he  said,  "  look  again, 
don't  you  see  a  likeness?  " 

"  Likeness  ?     Oh,  I  suppose  it's  the 


ZOE.  137 

gypsy  child  up  at  Mrs.  Gray's,  and 
you  mean  the  likeness  to  the  woman 
who  came  here  that  day  she  was  left ; 
but  I  don't  remember  enough  of  her 
to  say.  It 's  plain  the  child  's  a  gypsy. 
What  a  swarthy  skin,  to  be  sure ! " 

Why,  where  were  her  eyes  ?  To 
Mr.  Robins  it  was  little  Edith  over 
again.  He  wondered  that  all  the  vil 
lage  did  not  see  it  and  cry  out  on  him. 

Bat  it  was  not  likely  that  after  this 
his  confidence  should  go  further,  and 
just  then  the  child  began  a  little 
grumble,  and  he  took  her  back  hastily 
to  Mrs.  Gray  with  a  disappointed, 
crest-fallen  feeling. 

Jane  Sands  was  conscious  that  her 
reception  of  the  baby  had  not  been 


138  ZOE. 

satisfactory,  and  she  tried  to  make 
amends  by  little  complimentary  re 
marks,  which  annoyed  him  more  than 
her  indifference. 

"  A  fine,  strong  child,  and  does  Mrs. 
Gray  great  credit." 

"  It's  a  nice,  bright  little  thing,  and 
I  dare  say  will  improve  as  it  grows 
older." 

She  could  not  imagine  why  the  or 
ganist  grunted  in  such  a  surly  way  in 
reply  to  these  remarks,  for  what  on 
earth  could  it  matter  to  him  what  any 
one  thought  of  a  foundling,  gypsy 
child? 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IT  was  near  the  end  of  September 
that  John  Gray  broke  his  leg.  They 
were  thrashing  out  a  wheat-rick  at 
Farmer  Benson's,  and  somehow  he 
tumbled  from  the  top  of  the  rick  and 
fell  with  his  leg  bent  under  him,  and 
found  that  he  could  not  stand  when 
he  tried  to  struggle  up  to  his  feet. 

They  ran  to  tell  "  his  missus/'  who 
came  straight  off  from  the  wash  tub 
with  the  soapsuds  still  about  her 
skinny,  red  elbows,  catching  up  Zoe 
from  the  cradle  as  she  passed,  at 
sight  of  whom  Gray,  in  spite  of  the 


140  ZOE. 

pain  and  the  deadly  faintness  that 
was  dimming  his  eyes  and  clutching 
his  breath,  made  an  effort  to  chirrup 
and  snap  his  fingers  at  the  little 
one. 

"  It 's  his  innerds  as  is  hurted," 
explained  one  of  the  bystanders,  with 
that  wonderful  openness  and  way  of 
making  the  worst  of  everything  that 
is  found  in  that  class. 

"  The  spine  of  his  back  most  like," 
said  another,  "  like  poor  Johnson  over 
to  Stokeley,  as  never  walked  another 
step  arter  his  fall." 

"  Ay,  he  do  look  mortal  bad  !  'Tis 
a  terrible  bad  job  !  " 

u  Cut  off  like  a  flower !  "  sighed  one 
of  the  women.  "  There,  bear  up,  my 


ZOE.  141 

dear,5'  to  Mrs.  Gray,  with  whom  she 
had  not  been  on  speaking  terms  for 
some  weeks,  owing  to  a  few  words 
about  her  cat's  thieving  propensities. 
"  Don't  'ee  take  on  !  I  knows  well 
enough  what  you  feels,  as  is  only 
three  weeks  since  Father  was  took 
with  his  fit." 

"  Don't  be  skeered,  old  gal,"  sounded 
Gray's  voice,  odd  and  unnatural  to  the 
ears  of  the  hearers,  and  far  away  and 
independent  to  himself,  "  I  aint  so 
bad  as  that  comes  to  —  " 

And  then  mercifully  he  became  un 
conscious,  for  to  go  six  miles  with  a 
broken  leg  in  a  cart  without  springs 
on  the  way  to  the  hospital  is  not  a 
joke,  and  the  neighbors'  kindly  at- 


142  ZOE. 

tempts  to  bring  him  round  were  hap 
pily  unsuccessful.  The  worst  part  of 
that  drive  fell  to  the  share  of  his 
wife,  who  sat  holding  his  head  on 
her  lap  as  they  jolted  along,  trying 
to  keep  the  jars  and  bumps  from 
jerking  his  leg,  though  all  the  time 
she  firmly  believed  he  was  dead,  and 
was  already  in  her  dulled  mind  mak 
ing  pitiful  little  arrangements  about 
mourning  and  the  funeral,  and  con 
templating,  with  dreary  equanimity, 
a  widowed  existence  with  three-and- 
sixpence  a  week  for  her  and  Tom  and 
Bill  and  Zoe  to  live  upon.  She  never 
left  Zoe  out  of  the  calculation,  even 
when  it  became  most  difficult  to  ad 
just  the  number  of  mouths  to  be  fed 


ZOE.  143 

with  the  amount  of  food  to  be  put 
into  them,  and  over  this  dark  future 
fell  the  darker  shadow  of  the  work 
house,  which  closes  the  vista  of  life 
to  most  of  the  poor.  No  wonder 
they  live  entirely  in  the  present,  and 
shut  their  eyes  persistently  to  the 
future  ! 

There  was  not  much  going  back 
into  the  past  when  she  was  a  girl 
and  the  "  master '  a  lad,  and  they 
went  courting  of  a  Sunday  afternoon 
along  the  green  lanes.  Life  had  been 
too  matter-of-fact  and  full  of  hard 
work  to  leave  much  sentiment  even 
in  memory. 

Mr.  Robins  heard  of  the  accident 
in  the  evening,  and  went  up  to  the 


144  ZOE. 

cottage,  where  he  found  Bill  taking 
care  of  Zoe,  who  was  having  a  fine 
time  of  it,  having  soon  discovered 
that  she  had  only  to  cry  for  any 
thing  that  evening  to  get  it,  and  that 
it  was  an  occasion  for  displaying  a 
will  of  her  own  in  the  matter  of  go 
ing  to  bed  and  being  preternatnrnlly 
wide  awake  and  inclined  for  a  game, 
when  on  other  nights  she  was  quite 
content  to  be  laid  down  in  the  wooden 
cradle,  which  was  rapidly  becoming 
too  small  for  her  increasing  size. 

Poor  Bill  had  been  at  school  when 
the  accident  happened,  and  of  course 
the  neighbors  had  made  the  very  worst 
of  the  matter,  so  the  poor  boy  hardly 
knew  what  part  of  his  father  had  not 


ZOE.  145 

been  crushed  or  injured,  or  if  he  had 
been  killed  on  the  spot,  or  had  been 
taken  barely  alive  to  the  hospital. 
The  baby  had  been  pushed  into  his 
arms,  so  that  he  could  not  go  up  to 
the  farm,  nor  find  Tom  to  learn  the 
rights  of  the  matter,  so  that  when 
Mr.  Robins  came  into  the  cottage  he 
found  both  Bill  and  the  baby  crying 
together,  the  fire  out,  and  the  kettle 
upset  into  the  fender. 

"  Give  me  the  child,"  the  organist 
said.  And  Bill  obeyed,  as  he  did  at 
the  choir  practice  when  he  was  told 
to  pass  a  hymn-book,  too  miserable 
to  wonder  much  at  this  new  aspect 
of  his  master,  and  at  seeing  him 
take  the  baby  as  if  he  knew  all 
10 


146  ZOE. 

about  it,  and  sit  down  in  Father's 
arm-chair. 

"  See  if  you  can't  make  the  fire 
burn  up,"  he  went  on;  "the  child's 
cold." 

Zoe  seemed  well  content  with  her 
new  nurse  and  left  off  crying,  and 
sat  blinking  gravely  at  the  fire,  which 
Bill,  much  relieved  at  having  some 
thing  definite  to  do,  soon  roused  up 
to  a  sparkling,  crackling  blaze  with 
some  dry  sticks,  while  Mr.  Robins 
warmed  her  small,  pink  feet. 

Bill  would  certainly  have  been  sur 
prised  if  he  could  have  seen  what  was 
passing  in  the  organist's  mind,  a  pro 
posal  ripening  into  a  firm  resolve  that 
he  would  take  the  child  home  that 


ZOE.  147 

very  night  and  tell  Jane  who  she  was. 
Let  the  village  talk  as  it  might,  he 
did  not  mind;  let  them  say  what  they 
pleased. 

He  knew  enough  of  village  reports 
to  guess  that  Gray  was  not  as  badly 
hurt  as  every  one  declared  ;  but  still, 
even  a  trifling  accident  meant,  at  any 
rate,  a  week  or  two  of  very  short 
commons  at  the  cottage,  perhaps  less 
milk  for  the  baby  or  economy  over 
fuel,  and  the  September  days  were 
growing  cold  and  raw,  and  there  had 
been  more  than  one  frost  in  the  morn 
ings,  and  the  babv's  little  toes  were 

O     '  t/ 

cold  to  his  warm  hand.  Mrs.  Gray, 
too,  would  be  occupied  and  taken  up 
with  her  husband,  and  little  Zoe  would 


148  ZOE. 

be  pushed  about  from  one  to  another ; 
and  he  had  heard  that  there  was  scar 
latina  about,  and  the  relieving  officer 
had  been  telling  him  that  very  morn- 
'  ing  how  careless  the  people  were  about 
infection. 

The  cottage  looked  quite  different 
in  the  blazing  firelight,  and  Bill,  en 
couraged  by  the  organist's  presence, 
tidied  up  the  place,  where  the  wash- 
tub  stood  just  as  Mrs.  Gray  had  left 
it ;  and  he  set  the  kettle  on  to  boil, 
so  that  when  Mrs.  Gray  and  Tom 
came  in  it  presented  quite  a  comfort 
able  appearance.  Mrs.  Gray  came  in 
tired  and  tearful,  but  decidedly  hope 
ful,  having  left  Gray  comfortably  in 
bed  with  his  leg  set,  and  having  re- 


ZOE.  149 

ceived  reassuring  opinions  from  nurse 
and  doctor ;  and  the  first  alarm  and 
apprehension  being  removed,  there 
was  a  certain  feeling  of  importance 
in  her  position  as  wife  of  the  injured 
man,  and  excitement  at  a  visit  to  the 
country  town,  both  ways  in  a  cart, 
which  does  not  happen  often  in  a 
lifetime. 

The  baby,  thanks  to  the  warmth 
and  Mr.  Robins'  nursing,  had  fallen 
asleep  in  his  arms.  Mrs.  Gray  was 
so  much  confused  and  bewildered  by 
the  events  of  the  day  that  she  would 
hardly  have  been  surprised  to  see  the 
Queen  with  the  crown  on  her  head 
sitting  there  in  the  master's  arm 
chair,  quite  at  home  like,  and  hold- 


150  ZOE. 

ing  the  baby  on  one  arm  and  the 
sceptre  on  the  other;  and  Tom  was 
of  too  phlegmatic  a  disposition  to  be 
surprised  at  anything.  So  they  made 
no  remark,  and  Mr.  Robins  laid  the 
baby,  still  asleep,  in  Bill's  arms,  and 
went  away. 

Such  a  beautiful,  quiet  September 
night,  with  great  soft  stars  overhead, 
and  the  scent  of  fallen  leaves  in  the 
air  !  the  path  beneath  his  feet  was  soft 
with  them,  and  as  he  passed  under  the 
elms  which  by  daylight  were  a  blaze 
of  sunny  gold,  some  leaves  dropped 
gently  on  his  head. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said, "  I  will  bring 
little  Zoe  home,  and  I  will  let  her 
mother,  I  will  let  Edith  know  that  the 


ZOE.  151 

child  is  with  me,  and  that  if  she 
likes-  "It  needed  but  a  word  he 
felt  sure  to  bring  the  mother  to  the 
baby,  the  daughter  to  her  father. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  by  the 
churchyard  gate,  close  to  the  spot 
where  that  bitter,  cruel  parting  had 
been,  and  fancied  what  the  meeting 
would  be.  After  all,  what  was  his 
feeling  for  little  Zoe  and  his  imagina 
tion  of  what  his  little  grandchild 
would  be  to  him  in  the  future  to  the 
delight  of  having  Edith's  arms  round 
his  neck  and  holding  her  to  his  heart 
once  more  ? 

"  Edith,"  he  whispered  softly,  as  he 
turned  away  ;  "  Edith,  come  home  !  " 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said  to  Jane  Sands 


152 


ZOE. 


that  night ;    "  I  wonder  if  you  could 
find  out  an  address  for  me  ?  " 

She  was  folding  up  the  tablecloth, 
and  she  stopped  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"An  address?     Whose?" 

"  Well,"  he  said,  without  looking  at 
her,  "  I  fancy  there  are  still  some  of 
the  Blakes  "  (the  word  came  out  with  a 
certain  effort)  "  living  at  Bilton,  and 
perhaps  you  could  find  out  from  them 
the  address  I  want;  or,  perhaps,"  he 
added  quickly,  for  she  understood 
now,  and  eager  words  were  on  her 
lips,  «  perhaps  you  know.  There  ! 
never  mind  now ;  if  you  know,  you  can 
tell  me  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MORNING  very  often  brings  other 
counsels,  but  this  was  not  the  case 
with  Mr.  Robins,  for  when  he  got  up 
next  day  he  was  more  than  ever  re 
solved  to  carry  out  his  intention  of 
bringing  little  Zoe  home,  and  letting 
her  mother  know  that  a  welcome 
awaited  her  in  her  old  home. 

He  had  not  slept  very  much  during 
the  night,  for  his  mind  had  been  too 
full  of  the  change  that  was  coming  in 
his  life,  and  of  the  difference  that  the 
presence  of  Edith  and  little  Zoe  would 
make  in  the  dull,  old  house.  Sad  and 


154  ZOE. 

worn  and  altered  was  she  !  Ah  !  that 
would  soon  pass  away  with  kindness 
and  care  and  happiness,  and  the  cough 
that  had  sounded  so  hollow  and  omin 
ous  should  be  nursed  away,  and  Edith 
should  be  a  girl  again,  a  girl  as 
she  ought  to  be  yet  by  right  of  her 
years ;  and  those  five  years  of  suf 
fering  and  estrangement  should  be 
altogether  forgotten  as  if  they  had 
never  been. 

He  went  into  the  bedroom  next  his, 
that  had  been  Edith's,  that  was  to 
be  Edith's  again,  and  looking  round 
it,  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  Jane 
had  kept  it  just  as  it  had  been  in  the 
old  days ;  and  he  pushed  the  bed  a 
little  to  one  side  to  make  room  for 


ZOE.  155 

a  cot  to  stand  beside  it,  a  cot  which 
he  remembered  in  the  night  as  having 
stood  for  years  in  the  lumber-room  up 
in  the  roof,  and  which  he  now  with 
much  difficulty  dragged  out  from  be 
hind  some  heavy  boxes,  and  fitted 
together,  wishing  there  had  been  time 
to  give  it  a  coat  of  paint,  and  yet  glad 
with  a  tremulous  sort  of  gladness  that 
there  was  not,  seeing  that  it  would  be 
wanted  that  very  night. 

And  just  then  Jane  Sands  came  up 
to  call  him  to  breakfast,  and  stood 
looking  from  the  cot  to  her  master's 
dusty  coat,  with  such  a  look  of  de 
lighted  comprehension  on  her  face 
that  the  organist  felt  that  no  words 
were  needed  to  prepare  her  for  what 
was  going  to  happen. 


156  ZOE. 

"I  thought,"  he  said,  "it  had 
better  be  brought  down." 

"  Where  shall  it  go  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  In  Miss  —  in  the  room  next  mine," 
he  said,  "  and  it  will  want  a  good 


airing." 


"Shall  I  make  up  the  bed  too?" 
she  asked. 

"  Yes,  you  may  as  well." 

"  Oh,  master,"  she  said,  the  tears 
shaking-  in  her  voice  and  shining  in 
her  eyes ;  "  will  they  be  wanted 
soon?  Will  they,  maybe,  be  wanted 
to-night  ?  " 

His  own  voice  felt  suspiciously 
shaky ;  his  own  eyes  could  not  see  the 
old  cot,  nor  Jane's  beaming  face  quite 
plainly,  so  he  only  gave  a  gruff  assent 
and  turned  away. 


ZOE.  157 

"  What  a  good,  kind  creature  she 
is,"  he  thought.  "  What  a  welcome 
she  will  give  Edith  and  Edith's  little 
Zoe  !  " 

During  the  morning  he  heard  her 
up  in  the  room  sweeping  and  scrub 
bing,  as  if  for  these  five  years  it  had 
been  left  a  prey  to  dust  and  dirt, 
and  when  he  went  out  after  dinner 
to  give  a  lesson  at  Bilton,  she  was 
still  at  it  with  an  energy  worthy  of  a 
woman  half  her  age. 

That  stupid  little  girl  at  Bilton,  who 
generally  found  her  music-lesson  such 
an  intolerable  weariness  to  the  flesh, 
and  was  conscious  that  it  was  no  less 
so  to  her  teacher,  found  the  half-hour 
to-day  quite  pleasant.  Mr.  Robins 


158  ZOE. 

had  never  been  so  kind  and  cheerful, 
quite  amusing,  laughing  at  her  mis 
takes,  and  allowing  her  to  play  just 
the  things  she  knew  best,  and  to  get 
up  in  the  middle  of  the  lesson  to  go  to 
the  window  and  see  a  long  procession 
of  gypsy  vans  going  by  to  Smithurst 
Fair. 

It  was  such  a  very  beautiful  day ; 
perhaps  it  was  this  that  produced  such 
a  good  effect  on  the  organist's  temper. 
There  had  been  a  frost  that  morning, 
but  it  was  not  enough  to  strip  the 
trees,  but  only  to  turn  the  elms  a 
richer  gold  and  the  beeches  a  warmer 
red  and  the  oaks  a  ruddier  brown, 
while  in  the  hedges  the  purple  dog 
wood  and  hawthorn  and  bramble 


ZOE.  159 

leaves  made  a  wonderful  variety  of 
rich  tints  in  the  full  bright  sunshine, 
which  set  the  birds  twittering  with  a 
momentary  delusion  that  it  might 
be  spring. 

He  did  not  come  back  over  the 
hill,  and  past  the  Grays'  cottage,  for 
he  was  going  to  fetch  the  child  that 
evening ;  but  he  came  home  by  the 
road,  meeting  many  more  of  those 
gypsy  vans  which  had  distracted  his 
pupil's  attention,  and  looking  with 
kindliness  on  the  swarthy  men  and 
bronze  dark-eyed  women,  for  the  sake 
of  little  Zoe,  who  had  been  so  often 
called  the  gypsy  baby. 

When  he  reached  home  he  found 
the  room  prepared  with  all  the  care 


160  ZOE. 

Jane  Sands  could  lavish.  He  had 
thought  when  he  went  in  that  morn 
ing  that  it  was  just  as  Edith  had  left 
it,  and  all  in  the  most  perfect  order; 
but  now  the  room  was  a  bower  of 
daintiness  and  cleanliness,  and  all 
Edith's  old  treasures  had  been  set  out 
in  the  very  order  she  used  to  arrange 
them.  Why !  even  her  brush  and 
comb  were  laid  ready  on  the  dressing 
table  and  a  pair  of  slippers  by  the 
bedside,  and  a  small  bunch  of  autumn 
anemones  and  Czar  violets  was  placed 
in  a  little  glass  beside  her  books.  He 
smiled,  but  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  as 
he  saw  all  these  loving  preparations. 

"  Edith     can    hardly    be     here    to 
night,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  but  Zoe 


ZOE.  161 

will,"  and  he  smoothed  the  pillow  of 
the  cot  close  to  the  bedside,  and  drew 
the  curtain  more  closely  over  its 
head. 

He  found  his  tea  set  ready  for  him 
when  he  came  down,  but  Jane  Sands 
had  gone  out,  and  he  was  rather  glad 
of  it,  as  she  had  watched  him  that 
morning  with  an  eager,  expectant  eye, 
and  he  did  not  know  what  to  say  to 
her.  It  would  be  easier  when  he 
brought  the  baby  and  actually  put  it 
into  her  arms. 

The  sun  had  set  when  he  had 
finished  tea,  a  blaze  of  splendor  set 
tling  down  into  dull  purple  and  dead 
orange,  leaving  a  stripe  of  pale-green 
sky  over  the  horizon,  flecked  with  a 
11 


162  ZOE. 

few  soft  brown  clouds  tinged  with 
red. 

But  envious  night  hastened  to  cover 
lip  and  deaden  the  colors  of  the  sky 
and  the  almost  equally  gorgeous  tints 
of  tree  and  hedge ;  and  by  the  time 
Mr.  Robins  reached  the  Grays'  cot 
tage,  darkness  had  settled  down  as 
deep  as  on  that  evening  four  months 
ago,  when  he  carried  the  baby  and 
left  it  there. 

Now,  as  then,  the  cottage  door  was 
open,  and  Mrs.  Gray  sat  at  work  with 
the  candle  close  to  her  elbow,  every 
now  and  then  giving  a  long  sniff  or  a 
sigh,  that  made  the  tallow  candle 
flicker  and  tremble.  He  had  almost 
forgotten  her  husband's  accident  in 


ZOE.  163 

his  absorption  in  the  baby  ;  but  these 
sniffs  recalled  it  to  his  mind,  and  he 
thought  he  would  give  them  a  helping 
hand  while  Gray  was  in  the  hospital. 

"  She  has  been  kind  to  my  little 
Zoe,"  he  thought,  "  and  I  will  not  for 
get  it  in  a  hurry.  She  shall  come  and 
see  the  child  whenever  she  likes  ;  and 
Edith  will  be  good  to  her,  for  she  has 
been  like  a  mother  to  the  baby  all 
these  months." 

Close  by  where  Mrs.  Gray  sat  he 
could  see  the  foot  of  the  old  cradle 
and  the  rocker  within  reach  of  the 
woman's  foot ;  but  Zoe  must  be  asleep, 
for  there  was  no  rocking  necessary, 
and  Mrs.  Gray  did  not  turn  from  her 
work  to  look  at  the  child,  though  she 


1G4  ZOE. 

stopped  from  time  to  time  to  wipe  her 
eyes  on  her  apron. 

"  She  is  taken  up  with  her  hus 
band,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  it  is  as  well 
that  I  am  going  to  take  the  child 
away,  as  she  will  have  no  thought  to 
give  her  now." 

And  then  he  went  into  the  cottage, 
with  a  tap  on  the  open  door  to 
announce  his  presence. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Gray,"  he 
said  in  a  subdued  voice,  so  as  not  to 
wake  the  baby.  But  he  might  have 
spared  himself  this  precaution,  for  the 
next  glance  showed  him  that  the 
cradle  was  empty. 

"  Lord  bless  you,  Mr.  Robins,"  the 
woman  said,  "  you  give  me  quite  a 


ZOE.  165 

start,  coming  in  so  quiet  like.  But, 
there !  I  'm  all  of  a  tremble ;  the 
leastest  thing  do  terrify  me.  You 
might  knock  me  down  with  a  feather. 
First  one  thing  and  then  another! 
The  master  yesterday  and  the  baby 
to-day ! " 

"What!"  he  said,  so  sharp  and 
sudden,  that  it  stopped  the  flow  of 
words  for  a  moment.  "  What  do  you 
mean  !  Is  the  baby  in  bed  upstairs  ? 
What's  the  matter?  It's  not  the 
scarlatina?  Not  —  " 

"  Bless  you  !  "  she  said,  "  why  I 
thought  you'd  a-knowed.  It  aint  the 
scarlatina;  the  baby  was  as  well  and 
bonny  as  ever  when  she  went. 
She  've  agone,  her  mother  come  and 


1GG  ZOE. 

fetch  her  this  very  day,  and  took  her 
right  off.  Ay !  but  she  were  pleased 
to  see  how  the  little  thing  had  got  on, 
and  she  said  as  she  'd  never  forget  my 
kindness,  and  how  she  'd  bring  her  to 
see  me  whenever  she  come  this  way. 
But,  there !  I  do  miss  her  terrible. 
Why,  it 's  most  worse  than  the  master 
himself." 

The  organist  hardly  listened  to 
what  she  was  saying,  after  the  fact  of 
the  mother  having  come  and  fetched 
her  away.  Edith  had  come  for  her 
baby !  How  had  she  known  ?  Why 
had  she  done  it  to-day  ?  Could  Jane 
have  let  her  know ;  and  had  she 
come  so  quickly  to  take  the  child  her 
self  to  her  old  home?  His  first  im- 


ZOE.  167 

pulse  was  to  turn  and  hasten  home ; 
perhaps  Edith  and  Zoe  were  there 
already  and  would  find  him  absent. 
But  he  could  not  go  without  a  word  to 
Mrs.  Gray,  who  was  wiping  her  eyes 
in  her  apron  and  unconsciously  rock 
ing  the  empty  cradle. 

"  You  will  often  see  her,"  he  said 
consolingly,  "  she  will  not  be  very  far 
away." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that; 
them  gypsies  go  all  over  the  place,  up 
and  down  the  country,  and  they  don't 
always  come  back  for  the  fairs; 
though  she  says  as  they  don't  often 
miss  Smithurst." 

"  Gypsies  ?  "  he  said  puzzled. 

"Ay,    the    mother's   a   gypsy  sure 


168  ZOE. 

enough,  and  I  've  said  it  all  along,  and 
the  child 's  the  very  image  of  her ; 
there  was  n't  no  doubt  when  one  saw 
the  two  together  as  they  was  mother 
and  child." 

"Are  you  sure  she  was  a  gypsy?" 
He  had  often  said  in  fun  that  Edith 
was  a  regular  little  gypsy,  but  he 
would  never  have  thought  that  any 
one  could  really  mistake  her  for  one ; 
and  besides,  Mrs.  Gray  must  have 
known  Edith  well  enough,  at  any 
rate  by  sight,  in  the  old  days,  and 
changed  as  she  was,  it  was  not  beyond 
all  recognition. 

"  Oh,  there  wasn't  no  mistaking, 
and  the  van  as  she  belonged  to  waited 
just  outside  the  village,  for  I  went 


ZOE.  169 

down  along  with  her  and  seed  it, 
painted  yeller  with  red  wheels.  I 
knowed  Zoe  was  gypsy  born,  for  she  'd 
one  of  them  charms  round  her  neck  as 
I  did  n't  meddle  with,  for  they  do  say 
as  there 's  a  deal  of  power  in  them 
things,  and  that  gypsies  can't  be 
drovvnded  or  ketch  fevers  and  things 
as  long  as  they  keeps  'em." 

Mr.  Robins  sat  down  in  the  chair 
opposite  Mrs.  Gray.  An  odd,  cold  sort 
of  apprehension  was  stealing  over  him, 
and  the  pleasant  dream,  of  home  and 
Edith  and  Zoe,  in  which  he  had  been 
living  through  the  day,  was  fading  away 
with  every  word  the  woman  said. 

"  The  funny  part  of  it  were  that 
she  vowed  and  declared  as  she  put 


170  ZOE. 

the  child  at  your  door,  and  never 
came  this  way  at  all ;  leastways,  from 
what  she  said  it  must  a-been  your 
house,  for  she  said  it  was  hard  by 
the  church  and  had  a  thick  hedge, 
and  that  there  was  a  kind  sorter 
body  as  she  see  there  in  the  morn 
ing,  as  must  a-been  Mrs.  Sands  and 
nobody  else  from  her  account.  She 
said  she  was  in  a  heap  of  trouble 
just  then,  her  husband  ill  and  a  deal 
more,  and  she  was  pretty  nigh  at 
her  wits'  end,  and  that  without  think 
ing  twice  what  she  were  about,  she 
wropt  the  baby  up  and  laid  it  close 
agin  the  door  of  the  house  where 
she  'd  seen  the  kind-looking  body. 
She  would  have  it  as  it  was  there, 


ZOE.  171 

say  what  I  would  ;  but  maybe,  poor 
soul,  she  were  mazed,  and  hardly 
knew  where  she  were.  She  went  to 
your  house  to-day,  and  Mrs.  Sands 
were  quite  put  out  with  her,  being 
busy,  too,  and  expecting  company, 
and  thought  it  were  just  her  impi- 
dence ;  but  there  !  I  knows  what 
trouble  is,  and  how  it  just  mazes  a 
body,  for  1  could  no  more  tell  where 
I  went  nor  what  I  did  yesterday  than 
that  table  there.  And  another  queer 
thing  is  as  she  did  n't  know  noth 
ing  about  the  name,  and  neither  she 
nor  her  husband  can't  read  or  write 
noways,  so  she  could  n't  have  wrote 
it  down,  and  she  'd  never  heard  tell 
of  such  a  name  as  Zoe,  and  did  n't 


172  ZOE. 

like  it  neither.  She  'd  always  a-meant 
it  to  be  Rachel,  as  had  been  her 
mother's  name  before  her  and  her 
grandmother's  too." 

"  Are  you  quite  certain  she  was  the 
mother  ?  " 

"  Certain  ?  Why,  you  'd  only  to  see 
the  two  together  to  be  sure  of  it.  I  'd 
not  have  let  her  go,  not  were  it  ever 
so,  if  it  had  n't  been  as  clear  as  day 
light ;  and  just  now,  too,  when  I 
seems  to  want  her  for  a  bit  of  com 
fort  ; "  and  here  Mrs.  Gray  relapsed 
into  her  apron. 

Mr.  Robins  sat  for  a  minute  look 
ing  at  her  in  silence,  and  then  got 
up,  and  without  a  word  wrent  out 
into  the  dark  night,  mechanically  tak- 


ZOE.  173 

ing  the  way  to  his  house  and  then 
turning  on  to  the  highroad  to  Smith- 
urst,  tramping  along  through  the 
mud  and  dead  leaves  with  a  dull, 
heavy  persistence. 

Anything  was  better  than  going 
back  to  the  empty  silence  of  his 
house  and  Jane  Sands'  expectant 
face,  and  the  pretty,  white-curtained 
room  with  the  cot  all  ready  for  little 
Zoe,  who  was  already  miles  away 
along  that  dark  road  before  him, 
sleeping,  perhaps,  in  some  dirty  gypsy 
van  put  up  on  some  bit  of  waste 
land  by  the  roadside,  or  perhaps  sur 
rounded  by  the  noise  and  glare  of 
the  fair  with  its  shows  and  round 
abouts.  His  little  Zoe!  he  could  not 


174  ZOE. 

possibly    have    been    so    utterly    de 
ceived   all    through,  —  the    baby  who 
had  lain  on  his  bed,  whose  little  face 
he  had  felt  as  he  carried  her  up  to 
the  Grays'  cottage  in  the  dark,  whom 
he  had  seen  day  after  day  and  never 
failed  to  notice  the  likeness,  growing 
stronger  with  the  child's  growth !    Was 
it  all  a  delusion ;  all  the  foolish  fancy 
of  a  fond   old   man  ?     He  tried  hard 
to  believe  that  it  was  impossible  that 
he  could  have  been  so  deceived,  and 
yet  from  the  very  first  he  felt  that  it 
was  so,  and   that  the  love  that   had 
been   growing  in  his   heart   all  these 
months  had  been  lavished  on  a  gypsy 
baby  whose  face  most  likely  he  should 
never  see  again. 


ZOE.  175 

And  all  his  plans  for  the  future, 
his  dreams  of  reparation,  of  tender  re 
conciliation  with  Edith,  and  of  happy, 
peaceful  days  that  would  obliterate 
the  memory  of  past  trouble  and  alien 
ation,  —  they  had  all  vanished  with  the 
gypsy  baby  ;  life  was  as  empty  as  the 
cradle  by  Mrs.  Gray's  side. 

Where  was  he  to  find  his  daughter? 
Where  had  she  wandered  that  night 
when  the  pitiless  rain  fell  and  the 
sullen  wind  moaned  ?  Was  that  the 
last  he  should  ever  see  of  her,  with 
the  white,  wan,  pleading  face  under 
the  yew-tree ;  and  would  that  de 
spairing  voice  saying  "  Father  1 "  haunt 
his  ears  till  his  dying  day  ;  and  would 
the  wailing  cry  that  followed  him  as 


176  ZOE. 

he  went  to  his  house  that  night  be 
the  only  thing  he  should  ever  know 
of  his  grandchild,  the  real  little  Zoe 
whom  he  had  rejected? 

He  was  several  miles  away  along  the 
Smithurst  road  when  he  first  realized 
what  he  was  doing,  brought  to  the 
consciousness,  perhaps,  by  the  fact  of 
being  weary  and  footsore  and  wet 
through  from  a  fine  rain  that  had 
begun  falling  soon  after  he  left  the 
village.  It  must  be  getting  late  too ; 
many  of  the  cottages  he  passed  showed 
no  light  from  the  windows,  the  in 
mates  most  likely  being  in  bed. 

Painfully  and  wearily  he  toiled  back 
to  Downside;  he  seemed  to  have •  no 
spirit  left  to  contend  against  even 


ZOE.  177 

such  trifling  things  as  mud  and  in 
equalities  in  the  road,  and  when  a 
bramble  straying  from  the  hedge 
caught  his  coat  and  tore  it,  he  could 
almost  have  cried  in  feeble  vexation 
of  spirit.  Downside  street  was  all 
dark  and  quiet,  but  from  the  organ 
ist's  house  a  light  shone  out  from 
the  open  door  and  down  the  garden 
path,  making  a  patch  of  light  on  the 
wet  road. 

Some  one  stood  peering  out  into 
the  darkness,  and  at  the  sound  of 
his  dragging,  stumbling  footsteps,  Jane 
Sands  ran  down  to  the  gate.  The 
long  waiting  had  made  her  anxious, 
for  she  was  breathless  and  trembling 

with  excitement. 

12 


178  ZOE. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  she  said; 
"  we  got  so  frightened.  Why  are  you 
so  late  ?  Oh,  dearie  me ! "  as  she 
caught  sight  of  his  face.  "  You  're 
ill !  Something  has  happened !  There, 
come  in,  do  'ee,  now ;  you  look  fit  to 
drop  !  " 

He  pushed  by  her  almost  roughly 
into  the  house  and  dropped  down 
wearily  into  the  arm-chair.  He  was 
too  worn  out  and  exhausted  to  no 
tice  anything,  even  the  warmth  and 
comfort  of  the  bright  fire  and  the  sup 
per  ready  on  the  table.  He  tossed  his 
soaked  hat  on  the  ground,  and  lean 
ing  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his 
head  on  his  hands,  sat  bowed  down  with 
the  feeling  of  utter  wretchedness. 


ZOE.  179 

Day  alter  day,  night  after  night, 
till  his  life's  end,  plenty  and  comfort, 
and  neatness  and  respectability  and 
warmth  in  dull  monotony  ;  while  out 
side  somewhere  in  the  cold  and  rain, 
in  poverty  and  want  and  wretched 
ness,  wandered  Edith  with  the  wail 
ing  baby  in  her  arms ! 

"  You  can  go  to  bed,"  he  said 
to  Jane  Sands ;  "  I  don't  want  any 
supper." 

She  drew  back  and  went  softly  out 
of  the  room;  but  some  one  else  was 
standing  there  looking  down  at  the 
bowed  white  head  with  eyes  fuller 
even  of  pity  and  tears  than  Jane's 
had  been,  and  then  she  too  left  the 
room,  and  with  a  raised  finger  to 


180  ZOE. 

Jane,  who  was  waiting  in  the  passage, 
she  went  upstairs,  and  as  if  the  way 
were  well  known  to  her,  to  the  little 
room  which  had  been  got  ready  so 
uselessly  for  the  organist's  daughter. 

There,  sheltered  by  the  bed-curtain, 
was  the  cot  where  Zoe  was  to  have 
lain,  and  there,  wonderful  to  relate,  a 
child's  dark  head  might  be  seen  deep 
in  the  soft  pillow,  deeper  in  soft  sleep. 

And  then  this  strangely  presuming 
intruder  in  the  organist's  house  softly 
took  up  the  sleeping  child,  and  wrap 
ping  a  shawl  round  it,  carried  it,  still 
sleeping,  downstairs,  the  dark  lashes 
resting  on  the  round  cheek  flushed  with 
sleep  and  of  a  fairer  tint  than  gypsy 
Zoe's,  and  the  rosy  mouth  half  open. 


ZOE.  181 

The  organist  still  sat  with  his  head 
in  his  hands  and  did  not  stir  as  she 
entered,  not  even  when  she  came  and 
knelt  down  on  the  hearth  in  front  of 
him. 

Jane  Sands  was  unusually  tiresome 
to-night,  he  thought;  why  could  she 
not  leave  him  alone? 

And  then  against  his  cold  hands 
clasped  over  his  face  was  laid  some 
thing  soft  and  warm  and  tender, 
surely  a  little  child's  hand !  and  a 
voice  —  a  voice  he  had  never  thought 
to  hear  again  till  maybe  it  sounded  as 
his  accuser  before  the  throne  of  grace 
—  said  :  "  Father,  for  Zoe's  sake." 


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